O hurry where by water among the trees,
The delicate steeping 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!