COLINETTE.
ANONYMOUS.
Colinette,—that was her name,—
In a village lived obscure,
Where in childhood's morning pure,
Once, at harvest-time, I came;
A little girl and schoolboy met,
That was all our history,
She knew not then that death was night,
Poor dear Colinette.
When we ran about together
In the lanes and meadows green,
A breathless joy lit up her mien,
And mine was bright as sunny weather.
A chaffinch on the trees, our pet,
First hailed our child-love with his strain,
And bush and brake burst forth amain,
Poor dear Colinette.
This mossy seat, whereon I sigh,
Beheld my parting with the child,
My soul that eve with grief was wild,
I loved her without knowing why.
With tears half-hid mine eyes were wet,
I took her hand, and said, 'My dear,
Adieu, until another year;'
Poor dear Colinette.
