Deep in the Valley
by Dinah Craik (1826-1877)
Deep in the valley, afar from every beholder,
In the May morning my true love came to me:
Silent we sate, her head upon my shoulder;
Fondly we dreamed of the days about to be:
Fondly we dreamed of the days so soon to be.
Deep in the valley, the rain falls colder and colder:
Safely she sleeps beneath the churchyard tree:
Yet still I feel her head upon my shoulder,
Yet still I dream of the days that could not be:
Yet still I weep o’er the days that will not be.