| 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 hurry 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. |