Chapter 2 No.2

I plant a tree whose leaf

The yew-tree leaf will suit:

But when its shade is o'er you laid,

Turn round and pluck the fruit.

Now reach my harp from off the wall

Where shines the sun aslant;

The sun may shine and we be cold!

O hearken, loving hearts and bold,

Unto my wild romaunt.

Margret, Margret.