The Yellow Lambtoe I Have Often Got, Sweet Creeping O'Er The Banks In Summer-Time, And Totter-Grass, In Many A Trembling Knot; And Robb'D The Molehill Of Its Bed Of Thyme: And Oft With Anxious Feelings Would I Climb The Waving Willow-Row, A Stick To Trim, To Reach The Water-Lily'S Tempting Flower That On The Surface Of The Pool Did Swim: I've Stretch'D, And Tried Vain Schemes For Many An Hour; And Scrambled Up The Hawthorn'S Prickly Bower, For Ramping Woodbines And Blue Bitter-Sweet. Still Summer Blooms, These Flowers Appear Again; But, Ah, The Question'S Useless To Repeat, When Will The Feelings Come I Witness'D Then?