Under the pines sat a young man and maiden:
⁠"Love," said he, "life is sweet, think'st thou not so?"
Sweet were her eyes, full of pictures of Aidenn—
⁠"Life," said she, "love is sweet; no more I know."

Into the wide world the maid and her lover
⁠Wandered by pathways that sundered them far;
From pine groves to palm groves he flitted, a rover,
⁠She tended his roses, and watched for his star.

Oft he said softly, while melting eyes glistened,
⁠"Sweet is my life, love, with you ever near";
Morning and evening she waited and listened
⁠For a voice and a footstep that never came near.

Fainting at last on her threshold she found him;
⁠"Life is but ashes and bitter," he sighed.
She, with her tender arms folded about him,
⁠Whispered, "But love is still sweet"—and so died.

Sprague River, Or., 1873.