But things he'd see out on his walk

Would blind another's eyes.

But when it came to speak about them

'Twas another thing.

He'd say, "What use is it to shout them?

I want to sing!"

A smallish head, with jet-black hair

And eyes grey-blue,

You felt when'er he lookt you fair

That he must be true;

And when he smil'd his dear and shy way

Sidelong his mouth,

I always thought the sun fell my way

And the wind South.

So I possest the knowledge blest

That Love had held him fast

Since the day our eyes confest,

The first time and the last.

"Since then," he said, "I never durst

Look at you at all,

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