While The Billy BoilsSearchWill she spring with a blush from the arms of Dawn,When the sleepy songsters pruneTheir dewy vestments on bush and thorn,And the jovial magpie winds his hornIn sweet réveil to the lazy mornAnd the sun comes all too soon?Will she come with him from the farthest rimOf the blue Pacific sea?But how shall I know my lady? and byWhat token will she know me?
Will she come to me in the noonday hush,When the flowers are fast asleep'Neath their counterpane of emerald plushIn the fragrant warmth of the under-brush,Where Spring still lingers on moist and lush—While naught but the shadows creep,And all is rest but the eager questAnd the buzz of the tireless bee?But how shall I know my lady then?And how will my love know me?
Or will she come when the gallant DayAt the hands of the Night lies dead?When stealthy creatures have right of wayAmong the branches to romp and play,And the great green forest turns ashen grayAt the sound of the dead men's tread?Will my lady slip with smile on lipFrom the heart of a white box tree?But how shall I know 'tis she who comes?And how will she know 'tis me?
Will her hair be tinged as when sunbeams girdA castle of carmine rock?Or brown as a leaf in the sun's kiss curled?Or dark as the wing of that sable birdWhose hated voice is so often heardIn the wake of the bleating flock?Or will it be rolled in a crown of gold,An emblem of royalty?But how will I know 'tis she who comes?And how will she know 'tis me?
Is her ear as shapely as Venus' shell,And pierced by a diamond gleam?Is her hand as white as the immortelle?Her voice as sweet as that sounding bellThe gray bird tolls to the listening dellWhere the ti-tree hides the stream?Have the words been said? is my lady wed?Is my lady bond or free?—No matter who claims her earthly form,For her heart belongs to me!
Will her eyes be clear as the amber flightOf the stream over sandstone bar?Or darkly blue as the vault of night?Will her flesh show pink through its veil of white,And its violet-pencilled curves be brightAs the polished breast of a star?And where, oh, where may you find a pairWho shall love so well as we?But how shall I know my lady? byWhat token will she know me?
Will her cloak be shaped from the southern skiesAnd girt by a starry sash—Like an azure mist, as my lady hiesWith the light of love in her kindling eyes?Will she move with the solemn grace that liesIn the towering mountain ash!...Will she come at all? may it not befallThat our fates are dark and dree?That I may never know her at all,And she may never know me?