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Two steps from my garden rail
Sleeps my well beneath its pail:
Every sabbath comes my love
And I let him drink thereof.


All the world is sleeping now
Like the fruit beneath the bough.
Father, mother, both are gone
And my heart wakes here alone.


And the pail awakes with me,
Dripping, dripping, drowsily:
Drops of gold and crystal clear ...
And my love is drawing near.


Hist! I think that something stirred;
Was it he, or but a bird?
Dearest friend, my lover dear,
There is no one with me here.


By the trough we sit and speak,
Hand in hand and cheek to cheek;
Hear this riddle: Can you tell
Why the pitcher seeks the well?


That you cannot answer, nor
What the pail is weeping for?
Morn to even, drop by drop,
Fall its tears and cannot stop.


This then tell me, why my breast
Daylong, nightlong is oppressed.
Spoke my mother truth in saying
That your heart from me was straying?


And my lover answered: See,
Enemies have slandered me.
Ere another year be gone,
We shall marry, foolish one.


On that golden day of days
Shall the summer be ablaze.
Fruited branches overhead
Shall in benediction spread.


Friend and kinsman, young and old
Shall be gathered to behold,
And with music and with mirth
They shall come to lead us forth.


And the bridal canopy
In this place shall lifted be.
I shall slip a ring of gold
On this finger that I hold.


And pronounce the blessing: "Thee
God makes consecrate to me."
And my enemies shall there
Burst with envy and despair.