In a night, or in a day,
Some scudded on the gale without a sound,
One whistled like a bird.
Laura started from her chair,
Shall be a thought on thee, Mary
What melons icy-cold
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
Should not loiter in the glen
And ruined in my ruin,
But peering thro' the dimness, nought discerning,
In a night, or in a day,
Some scudded on the gale without a sound,
One whistled like a bird.
Laura started from her chair,
Shall be a thought on thee, Mary
What melons icy-cold
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
Should not loiter in the glen
And ruined in my ruin,
But peering thro' the dimness, nought discerning,