| THE apple trees are hung with gold, | |
| And birds are loud in Arcady, | |
| The sheep lie bleating in the fold, | |
| The wild goat runs across the wold, | |
| But yesterday his love he told, | 5 |
| I know he will come back to me. | |
| O rising moon! O Lady moon! | |
| Be you my lover’s sentinel, | |
| You cannot choose but know him well, | |
| For he is shod with purple shoon, | 10 |
| You cannot choose but know my love, | |
| For he a shepherd’s crook doth bear, | |
| And he is soft as any dove, | |
| And brown and curly is his hair. | |
| |
| The turtle now has ceased to call | 15 |
| Upon her crimson-footed groom, | |
| The grey wolf prowls about the stall, | |
| The lily’s singing seneschal | |
| Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all | |
| The violet hills are lost in gloom. | 20 |
| O risen moon! O holy moon! | |
| Stand on the top of Helice, | |
| And if my own true love you see, | |
| Ah! if you see the purple shoon, | |
| The hazel crook, the lad’s brown hair, | 25 |
| The goat-skin wrapped about his arm, | |
| Tell him that I am waiting where | |
| The rushlight glimmers in the Farm. | |
| |
| The falling dew is cold and chill, | |
| And no bird sings in Arcady, | 30 |
| The little fauns have left the hill, | |
| Even the tired daffodil | |
| Has closed its gilded doors, and still | |
| My lover comes not back to me. | |
| False moon! False moon! O waning moon! | 35 |
| Where is my own true lover gone, | |
| Where are the lips vermilion, | |
| The shepherd’s crook, the purple shoon? | |
| Why spread that silver pavilion, | |
| Why wear that veil of drifting mist? | 40 |
| Ah! thou hast young Endymion, | |
| Thou hast the lips that should be kissed! | |
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