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J. O. Rockwell

The Miller's Daughter.

T is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles at her ear :

For, hid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me In sorrow and in rest:

And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom, With her laughter or her sighs :

And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasped at night.