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When shadows pass across the grass And April breezes stir the sedge, Along the brimming river's edge &emsp;I trail my line for silver trout, And smoke, and dream of you, my lass, &emsp;And wonder why we two fell out, &emsp;And how the deuce it came about.

When swallows sheer the meadow-mere And thickets thrill with thrushes' hymns, Along the mill-pond's reedy rims &emsp;I trail my line for shining dace; But how can finny fishes cheer &emsp;A fellow, if he find no grace &emsp;In your sweet eyes and your dear face?

Let thrushes wing their way and sing Where cresses freshen pebbled nooks; By silent rills and singing brooks &emsp;I pass my way alone, alas! With your dear name the woodlands ring— &emsp;Your name is murmured by the grass, &emsp;By earth, by air, all-where I pass.