| |
| HER eyes be like the violets, | |
| Ablow in Sudbury lane; | |
| When she doth smile, her face is sweet | |
| As blossoms after rain; | |
| With grief I think of my gray hairs, | 5 |
| And wish me young again. | |
| |
| In comes she through the dark old door | |
| Upon this Sabbath day; | |
| And she doth bring the tender wind | |
| That sings in bush and tree; | 10 |
| And hints of all the apple boughs | |
| That kissed her by the way. | |
| |
| Our parson stands up straight and tall, | |
| For our dear souls to pray, | |
| And of the place where sinners go | 15 |
| Some grewsome things doth say: | |
| Now, she is highest Heaven to me; | |
| So Hell is far away. | |
| |
| Most stiff and still the good folk sit | |
| To hear the sermon through; | 20 |
| But if our God be such a God, | |
| And if these things be true, | |
| Why did He make her then so fair, | |
| And both her eyes so blue? | |
| |
| A flickering light, the sun creeps in, | 25 |
| And finds her sitting there; | |
| And touches soft her lilac gown, | |
| And soft her yellow hair; | |
| I look across to that old pew, | |
| And have both praise and prayer. | 30 |
| |
| Oh, violets in Sudbury lane, | |
| Amid the grasses green, | |
| This maid who stirs ye with her feet | |
| Is far more fair, I ween! | |
| I wonder how my forty years | 35 |
| Look by her sweet sixteen! | |
| |
