Last night, when at parting
Awhile we did stand,
Suddenly starting,
There fell on my hand
Something that burned it,
Something that shone
In the moon as I turned it,
And then it was gone.
One bright stray jewel—
What made it stray?
Was I cold or cruel,
At the close of day?
Oh, do not cry, lass!
What is crying worth?
There is no lass like my lass
In the whole wide earth.