To Lizbie Browne

Dear Lizbie Browne, 
Where are you now? 
In sun, in rain? — 
Or is your brow 
Past joy, past pain, 
Dear Lizbie Browne? 

Sweet Lizbie Browne 
How you could smile, 
How you could sing! — 
How archly wile 
In glance-giving,
Sweet Lizbie Browne! 

And, Lizbie Browne, 
Who else had hair 
Bay-red as yours, 
Or flesh so fair 
Bred out of doors, 
Sweet Lizbie Browne? 

When, Lizbie Browne, 
You had just begun 
To be endeared 
By stealth to one, 
You disappeared 
My Lizbie Browne! 

Ay, Lizbie Browne, 
So swift your life, 
And mine so slow, 
You were a wife 
Ere I could show 
Love, Lizbie Browne. 

Still, Lizbie Browne, 
You won, they said, 
The best of men 
When you were wed... 
Where went you then, 
O Lizbie Browne? 

Dear Lizbie Browne, 
I should have thought, 
"Girls ripen fast," 
And coaxed and caught 
You ere you passed, 
Dear Lizbie Browne! 

But, Lizbie Browne,
I let you slip;
Shaped not a sign;
Touched never your lip
With lip of mine,
Lost Lizbie Browne!

So, Lizbie Browne,
When on a day
Men speak of me
As not, you'll say,
"And who was he?" — 
Yes, Lizbie Browne!