My heart was in the budding of the blossom on the lea,
It held me like the winds could hold their triumph of the sea.
The petals that fell through the air were scented with the spring;
I wrapped the vines around my hand like several emerald rings.
It was a novel of my life, a picture of my dreams
It filled me with the purpose of the sunlight's fallen beams,
It took me to a palace of the moss and climbing rose
And left me in a haven that the angels only know.
If I could be so thoughtless as I had been that day
When all the world had bent its head and turned its face away;
The solitary road I tread was easiest to find
Amongst the poppies on the cliff that overlooked the Seine.