Over by the livery;

When be I wasn’t supposed,

I left my home and went on

To meet my girl at Hickory;

(An oak we named amid ourselves,

Branded for our keeping;)

Yonder where the mountains breathe;

I traversed with huffing eyes,

Where caverns’ wrathful answer loud,

To men with flames on their heads

Who rouse contention in the rocks;

And falter ‘neath the staggering,

Sodden, crashing lowly caves;

‘Tis there I went to give my love

A dandelion crown, hand-sewn,

With hours long I dared to give

My laughing love

A masterpiece of Susan’s eye;

And every needle in the pine;

From every web I took, then,

From the artist of the oaks;

Went intertwining this and that,

For my girl the golden-rod hair;

But as I gave to her this crown,

She peered at me with eyes-adrift,

And said she wouldn’t, couldn’t

Set the crown a-loft her head;

She said that she would never, ever

Set a crown a-loft her head;

I asked her why she wouldn’t—

Couldn’t— accept this gift,

A-loft her lovely golden hair-

Said she: “I couldn’t bear it,”

If I were ruler of a land

That time regards with such

Indifference; must I treat with him

Who leaves sordid cabins to

their lowly, lonesome place;

caring not If they stand or if they fall;

If they rot or if they die;

As he has left us in these woods?”