The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh，
When they have but looked upon their images—
Would none had ever loved but you and I！
Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed
Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky，
When the sun looked out of his golden hood？—
O that none ever loved but you and I！
O hurry to the ragged wood， for there
I will drive all those lovers out and cry—
O my share of the world， O yellow hair！
No one has ever loved but you and I.