TO LIZBIE BROWNE

Dear Lizbie Browne, Where are you now? In sun, in rain? - Or is your brow

Past joy, past pain, Dear Lizbie Browne? Sweet Lizbie Browne How you could smile,

How you could sing! - How archly wile In glance-giving, Sweet Lizbie Browne!

And, Lizbie Browne, Who else had hair Bay-red as yours, Or flesh so fair

Bred out of doors, Sweet Lizbie Browne? When, Lizbie Browne, You had just begun

To be endeared By stealth to one, You disappeared My Lizbie Browne!

Ay, Lizbie Browne, So swift your life, And mine so slow, You were a wife

Ere I could show Love, Lizbie Browne. Still, Lizbie Browne, You won, they said,

The best of men When you were wed... Where went you then, O Lizbie Browne?

Dear Lizbie Browne, I should have thought, “Girls ripen fast,” And coaxed and caught

You ere you passed, Dear Lizbie Browne! But, Lizbie Browne, I let you slip;

Shaped not a sign; Touched never your lip With lip of mine, Lost Lizbie Browne!

So, Lizbie Browne, When on a day Men speak of me As not, you'll say,

“And who was he?” - Yes, Lizbie Browne!