We sat on the swing together;
At the end of the orchard-close,
A hill with its budding heather
Like a purple dome arose.

On the heavily-ivied chapel
The sun for the windows sought;
In the shadows of pear-tree and apple
The daisies were crowded and caught.

And this was her thirteenth summer,
And I was as old as she;
But love is an early comer;
He came to her and me.

O, silently, slowly swinging,
Till a star peered half afraid,
And the chapel-bell was ringing,
And the shadows were lost in shade?