The Ragged Wood
O hurry where by water among the trees The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh, When they have but looked upon their images— Would none had ever loved but you and I! Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky, When the sun looked out of his golden hood?— O that none ever loved but you and I! O hurty to the ragged wood, for there I will drive all those lovers out and cry— O my share of the world, O yellow hair! No one has ever loved but you and I.