Littell's Living Age/Volume 129/Issue 1660/"Rose, in the hedgerow grown"
Rose, in the hedgerow grown,
Where the scent of the fresh sweet hay
Comes up from the fields new-mown,
You know it—you know it—alone,
So I gather you here to-day!
For here—was it not here, say?—
That she came by the woodland way,
And my heart with a hope unknown
Ah, yes!—with her bright hair blown,
And her eyes like the skies of May,
And her steps like the rose-leaves strown
When the winds in the rose-trees play,—
It was here,—O my love, my own