Milly has no mother; and sad beyond another Is she whose blessed mother is vanished out of call: Truly comfort beyond comfort is stored up in a mother Who bears with all, and hopes through all, and loves us all. Where peacocks nod and flaunt up and down the terrace, Furling and unfurling their scores of sightless eyes, To and fro among the leaves and buds and flowers and berries Maiden Milly strolls and pauses, smiles and sighs. On the hedged-in terrace of her father's palace She may stroll and muse alone, may smile or sigh alone, Letting thoughts and eyes go wandering over hills and valleys To-day her father's, and one day to be all her own. If her thoughts go coursing down lowlands and up highlands, It is because the startled game are leaping from their lair; If her thoughts dart homeward to the reedy river islands, It is because the waterfowl rise startled here or there. At length a footfall on the steps: she turns, composed and steady, All the long-descended greatness of her father's house Lifting up her head; and there stands Walter keen and ready For hunting or for hawking, a flush upon his brows. "Good-morrow, fair cousin." "Good-morrow, fairest cousin: The sun has started on his course, and I must start to-day. If you have done me one good turn you've done me many a dozen, And I shall often think of you, think of you away." "Over hill and hollow what quarry will you follow, Or what fish will you angle for beside the river's edge? There's cloud upon the hill-top and there 's mist deep down the hollow, And fog among the rushes and the rustling sedge." "I shall speed well enough be it hunting or hawking, Or casting a bait towards the shyest daintiest fin. But I kiss your hands, my cousin; I must not loiter talking, For nothing comes of nothing, and I'm fain to seek and win." "Here's a thorny rose: will you wear it an hour, Till the petals drop apart still fresh and pink and sweet? Till the petals drop from the drooping perished flower, And only the graceless thorns are left of it." "Nay, I have another rose sprung in another garden, Another rose which sweetens all the world for me. Be you a tenderer mistress and be you a warier warden Of your rose, as sweet as mine, and full as fair to see." "Nay, a bud once plucked there is no reviving, Nor is it worth your wearing now, nor worth indeed my own; The dead to the dead, and the living to the living. It's time I go within, for it's time now you were gone." "Good-bye, Milly Brandon, I shall not forget you, Though it be good-bye between us for ever from to-day; I could almost wish to-day that I had never met you, And I'm true to you in this one word that I say."