In the first edition the poem opened with the following stanza, which the _Quarterly_ ridiculed, and which was afterwards excised. Its omission is surely not to be regretted, whatever Fitzgerald may have thought.
I met in all the close green ways, While walking with my line and rod, The wealthy miller’s mealy face, Like the moon in an ivy-tod. He looked so jolly and so good— While fishing in the milldam-water, I laughed to see him as he stood, And dreamt not of the miller’s daughter.
I see the wealthy miller yet, His double chin, his portly size, And who that knew him could forget The busy wrinkles round his eyes? The slow wise smile that, round about His dusty forehead drily curl’d, Seem’d half-within and half-without, And full of dealings with the world?
In yonder chair I see him sit, Three fingers round the old silver cup— I see his gray eyes twinkle yet At his own jest—gray eyes lit up With summer lightnings of a soul So full of summer warmth, so glad, So healthy, sound, and clear and whole, His memory scarce can make me[1] sad.
Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss: My own sweet[2] Alice, we must die. There’s somewhat in this world amiss Shall be unriddled by and by. There’s somewhat flows to us in life, But more is taken quite away. Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife,[3] That we may die the self-same day.
Have I not found a happy earth? I least should breathe a thought of pain. Would God renew me from my birth I’d almost live my life again. So sweet it seems with thee to walk, And once again to woo thee mine— It seems in after-dinner talk Across the walnuts and the wine—[4]
To be the long and listless boy Late-left an orphan of the squire, Where this old mansion mounted high Looks down upon the village spire:[5] For even here,[6] where I and you Have lived and loved alone so long, Each morn my sleep was broken thro’ By some wild skylark’s matin song.
And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan;[7] But ere I saw your eyes, my love, I had no motion of my own. For scarce my life with fancy play’d Before I dream’d that pleasant dream— Still hither thither idly sway’d Like those long mosses[8] in the stream.
Or from the bridge I lean’d to hear The milldam rushing down with noise, And see the minnows everywhere In crystal eddies glance and poise, The tall flag-flowers when[9] they sprung Below the range of stepping-stones, Or those three chestnuts near, that hung In masses thick with milky cones.[10]