I plodded to Fairmile Hill-top, where
       &nbsp A maiden one fain would guard
From every hazard and every care
       &nbsp Advanced on the roadside sward.

I wondered how succeeding suns
       &nbsp Would shape her wayfarings,
And wished some Power might take such ones
       &nbsp Under Its warding wings.

The busy breeze came up the hill
       &nbsp And smartened her cheek to red,
And frizzled her hair to a haze. With a will
       &nbsp "Good-morning, my Dear!" I said.

She glanced from me to the far-off gray,
       &nbsp And, with proud severity,
"Good-morning to you—though I may say
       &nbsp I am not YOUR Dear," quoth she:

"For I am the Dear of one not here -
       &nbsp One far from his native land!" -
And she passed me by; and I did not try
       &nbsp To make her understand.