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Poem	I thought my true love slept; Behind her chair I crept And pulled out a long pin; The golden flood came out, She shook it all about, With both our faces in. Ah! little wren, I know Your mossy, small nest now A windy, cold place is; No eye can see my face, Howe'er it watch the place Where I half drown in bliss. When I am drowned hald dead, She laughs and shakes her head; Flogged by her hair-waves, I Withdraw my face from there; But never once, I swear, She heard a mercy cry.
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