Regret Not Me; Beneath The Sunny Tree I Lie Uncaring, Slumbering Peacefully. Swift As The Light I Flew My Faery Flight; Ecstatically I Moved, And Feared No Night. I Did Not Know That Heydays Fade And Go, But Deemed That What Was Would Be Always So. I Skipped At Morn Between The Yellowing Corn, Thinking It Good And Glorious To Be Born. I Ran At Eves Among The Piled-Up Sheaves, Dreaming, "I Grieve Not, Therefore Nothing Grieves." Now Soon Will Come The Apple, Pear, And Plum And Hinds Will Sing, And Autumn Insects Hum. Again You Will Fare To Cider-Makings Rare, And Junketings; But I Shall Not Be There. Yet Gaily Sing Until The Pewter Ring Those Songs We Sang When We Went Gipsying. And Lightly Dance Some Triple-Timed Romance In Coupled Figures, And Forget Mischance; And Mourn Not Me Beneath The Yellowing Tree; For I Shall Mind Not, Slumbering Peacefully.