Little Lucy Landman
Oh, the day has set me dreamingIn a strange, half solemn wayOf the feelings I experiencedOn another long past day,—Of the way my heart made musicWhen the buds began to blow,And o’ little Lucy LandmanWhom I loved long years ago.
It ‘s in spring, the poet tells us,That we turn to thoughts of love,And our hearts go out a-wooingWith the lapwing and the dove.But whene’er the soul goes seekingIts twin-soul, upon the wing,I ‘ve a notion, backed by mem’ry,That it’s love that makes the spring.
I have heard a robin singingWhen the boughs were brown and bare,And the chilling hand of winterScattered jewels through the air.And in spite of dates and seasons,It was always spring, I know,When I loved Lucy LandmanIn the days of long ago.
Ah, my little Lucy Landman,I remember you as wellAs if ‘t were only yesterdayI strove your thoughts to tell,—When I tilted back your bonnet,Looked into your eyes so true,Just to see if you were lovingMe as I was loving you.
Ah, my little Lucy LandmanIt is true it was deniedYou should see a fuller summerAnd an autumn by my side.But the glance of love’s sweet sunlightWhich your eyes that morning gaveHas kept spring within my bosom,Though you lie within the grave.