Tripping down the field-path / Charles Swain

Tripping down the field-path

Tripping down the field-path,
  Early in the morn,
There I met my own love
  ’Midst the golden corn;
Autumn winds were blowing,
  As in frolic chase,
All her silken ringlets
  Backward from her face;
Little time for speaking
  Had she, for the wind,
Bonnet, scarf, or ribbon,
  Ever swept behind.

Still some sweet improvement
  In her beauty shone;
Every graceful movement      
  Won me,— one by one!
As the breath of Venus
  Seemed the breeze of morn,
Blowing thus between us,
  ’Midst the golden corn.
Little time for wooing
  Had we, for the wind
Still kept on undoing
  What we sought to bind.

Oh! that autumn morning
  In my heart it beams,
Love’s last look adorning
  With its dream of dreams:
Still, like waters flowing
  In the ocean shell,
Sounds of breezes blowing
  In my spirit dwell;
Still I see the field-path;—
  Would that I could see
Her whose graceful beauty
  Lost is now to me!

~~
Charles Swain (1801-1874)
from Songs and Ballads, 1867

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Charles Swain biography