Hold safe, waving grass, in thy rhythmical flow,
What I say,
Till the day
When as sweet new-mown hay
Thou can'st bear it to him in the fragrance loved best.
Thou dost fear?—
Oh, love dear,
How I wish thou wert here!
But pause, little cloud, thou canst carry it now,
I am sure,
Sweet and pure,
Though the winds do allure;
For thou art on the way to the west where he is.
But dost know?—
Tell him low,
"That I do love him so,
Oh! I do love him so."