Where She Told Her Love

I saw her crop a rose     Right early in the day,     And I went to kiss the place     Where she broke the rose away     And I saw the patten rings     Where she oer the stile had gone,     And I love all other things     Her bright eyes look upon.     If she looks upon the hedge or up the leafing tree,     The whitethorn or the brown oak are made dearer things to me.     I have a pleasant hill     Which I sit upon for hours,     Where she cropt some sprigs of thyme     And other little flowers;     And she muttered as she did it     As does beauty in a dream,     And I loved her when she hid it     On her breast, so like to cream,     Near the brown mole on her neck that to me a diamond shone     Then my eye was like to fire, and my heart was like to stone.     There is a small green place     Where cowslips early curled,     Which on Sabbath day I trace,     The dearest in the world.     A little oak spreads oer it,     And throws a shadow round,     A green sward close before it,     The greenest ever found:     There is not a woodland nigh nor is there a green grove,     Yet stood the fair maid nigh me and told me all her love.