The Constant Lover
I see fair women all the day,
They pass and pass-and go;
I almost dream that they are shades
Within a shadow-show.
Their beauty lays no hand on me,
They talk—I hear no word;
I ask my eyes if they have seen,
My ears if they have heard.
For why-within the north countree
A little maid, I know,
Is waiting through the days for me,
Drear days so long and slow.
