Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/108



by weariness, I slept

Within the oaken-grove—

And near me grew, as morning woke

A rosemary-tree above.

many a rosemary-branch,

And twin'd them in a wreath,

And threw it in the flowing stream—

The fresh cool stream beneath.

said, whoe'er this wreath shall see,

And save it from the tide,

That maiden shall my mistress be,

That maiden be my bride.

morning came—and many a maid

Her pitcher went to fill,

They watch'd the verdant rosemary-wreath

That floated on the rill.