I hear in the twitter of birds her song,
I hear her step in the rustling grass,
Her laugh on the evening breeze--and I long
To see my Margaret pass.
I see her eyes in the sparkling dew,
Her hair in the tasseled corn, soft fanned,
Her form in the drifting cloud--and I long
To hold my Margaret's hand.
I feel her pulse in the river's flow,
In the summer rain, that drips and drips,
Her breath on the perfumed breeze--and I long
To taste my Margaret's lips!