Most have gone,
 but she has stayed.
  
 I would give her a jewel of gold,
 but gold is heavy and cold.
  
 I would give her a velvet fold
 of foreign stitching for her beauty to deck.
 But she likes her scarf rolled
 light and white round her neck.
 
 I would give the moon to her,
 for her to cradle underneath my oak tree
 idle day by day right to my side
 but she would crave to go free
 because the world is wide.
  
 The crushes bubble and boil,
 her beauty remains cast in oil.
 Her heart is a highway traveler, so apt to swerve
 Nay a lazy limb or fretful cry, just a quick bit of nerve.
 
 She often speaks to me in haste,
 her tones are sweet to the taste.
  
 She raises her lustrous eyes,
 and I peep on my branch,
 when she downward cast her eyes
 i gasp on my perch
 And when she turns away her eyes,
 upon the sill
 i warble,
 warbling still.


 In her heart she says

 she
 loves
 me.
 
 And on her arm she knows

 she
 has
 me.

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