Yvonne Of Brittany

In your mother's apple-orchard,     Just a year ago, last spring:     Do you remember, Yvonne!     The dear trees lavishing     Rain of their starry blossoms     To make you a coronet?     Do you ever remember, Yvonne?     As I remember yet.     In your mother's apple-orchard,     When the world was left behind:     You were shy, so shy, Yvonne!     But your eyes were calm and kind.     We spoke of the apple harvest,     When the cider press is set,     And such-like trifles, Yvonne!     That doubtless you forget.     In the still, soft Breton twilight,     We were silent; words were few,     Till your mother came out chiding,     For the grass was bright with dew:     But I know your heart was beating,     Like a fluttered, frightened dove.     Do you ever remember, Yvonne?     That first faint flush of love?     In the fulness of midsummer,     When the apple-bloom was shed,     Oh, brave was your surrender,     Though shy the words you said.     I was glad, so glad, Yvonne!     To have led you home at last;     Do you ever remember, Yvonne!     How swiftly the days passed?