I don't understand that lass of mine,

I'll swear I don't.

Always a-dreaming, with her eyes far-off,

As though she looks at something

I can't see.

Queer ideas, she has.

She said,

I wish that hill weren't there,

I'd see the sunset longer.

As if a man could move it

Cause she asked. One day

Up on the bluff,

Near where that great pine stands alone,

I found her crying, quiet-like,

Although her face seemed glad enough

For all her tears.

"What's this?"

I cried, - too quick and harsh, I guess,

For all she'd say

Was something I didn't understand -

About crying to see the tree,

How beautiful it was.