Oh, straight white road that runs to meet,
Across green fields, a blue-green sea,
You knew the little weary feet
Of my child-bride that was to be!

Her people brought
her from the shore
One golden day in sultry June,
And I stood, waiting, at the door,
Praying my eyes might see her soon.

With eager arms,
wide open thrown,
Now never to be satisfied !
Ere I could make my love my own
She closed her amber eyes and died.

Alas! alas! They took no heed
How frail she was, my little one,
But brought her here with cruel speed
Beneath the fierce, relentless sun.