Page:Poems Nealds.djvu/63

37

I ne'er will twine
These locks of mine,
 With any thing but flow'rs,
Each gaud and gem,
I'll leave to them,
 Who'd scorn a life like ours.

I'll come to night,
When the moon's pale light
 Is hid by a shadowing cloud,
I'll leave the dome,
Of my father's home,
 And his princely turrets proud.

Then wait for me,
By the linden tree,
 That grows by the castle wall;