Where the sun shineth,
Through the willow trees,
And the church standeth,
‘ Mid the tomb-stones white,
Planting anemones
I saw my delight.
Her mother sleepeth
Beneath the green mound;
A white cross standeth
To show man the place.
Now close to the ground
Blanche bendeth her face.
She quickly riseth
As she hears my walk,
And sadly smileth
Through mists of tears;
We mournfully talk
Of departed years.
She downward droopeth
Her beautiful head,
And a blue-bell seemeth
That blossometh down;
Trembling with dread,
Lest the sky should frown.
She dearer seemeth
Than ever before.
She gently chideth
My more distant way.
At her heart's one door
I entered to-day.
No palace standeth
As happy as this.
Love ever ruleth
Its precincts alone —
His sceptre a kiss,
And a smile his throne.
There is one Blanche feareth —
She loves not deceit —
She only wisheth
To dazzle his heart.
We promise to meet.
And separate depart.