I

Dear Lizbie Browne,

Where are you now?

In sun, in rain?—

Or is your brow

Past joy, past pain,

Dear Lizbie Browne?

II

Sweet Lizbie Browne

How you could smile,

How you could sing!—

How archly wile

In glance-giving,

Sweet Lizbie Browne!

III

And, Lizbie Browne,

Who else had hair

Bay-red as yours,

Or flesh so fair

Bred out of doors,

Sweet Lizbie Browne?

IV

When, Lizbie Browne,

You had just begun

To be endeared

By stealth to one,

You disappeared

My Lizbie Browne!

V

Ay, Lizbie Browne,

So swift your life,

And mine so slow,

You were a wife

Ere I could show

Love, Lizbie Browne.

VI

Still, Lizbie Browne,

You won, they said,

The best of men

When you were wed . . .

Where went you then,

O Lizbie Browne?

VII

Dear Lizbie Browne,

I should have thought,

“Girls ripen fast,”

And coaxed and caught

You ere you passed,

Dear Lizbie Browne!

VIII

But, Lizbie Browne,

I let you slip;

Shaped not a sign;

Touched never your lip

With lip of mine,

Lost Lizbie Browne!

IX

So, Lizbie Browne,

When on a day

Men speak of me

As not, you’ll say,

“And who was he?”—

Yes, Lizbie Browne!