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The Goose-Girl

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 Spring rides no horses down the hill,
But comes on foot, a goose-girl still.
And all the loveliest things there be Come simply, so, it seems to me.
If ever I said, in grief or pride, I tired of honest things, I lied: And should be cursed forevermore With Love in laces, like a whore, And neighbours cold, and friends unsteady, And Spring on horseback, like a lady!

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