Where is Milly?

Rose-time and daisy-time, Both have come together. O, the thrush and robin songs, O, the golden weather, Em’rald green upon the hills, Deep green in the hollow; Overhead a bird sings out, Follow! Follow! Follow! Butterflies, the wild rose hedge Daintily dip over, Yellow banded honey bees Cling about the clover. Flying birds and butterflies,— But where has flown my Milly? Tell me, little bright-eyed bird That sings “Tu whilly-whilly!” One sings from the wild rose hedge, And bids me “Follow! Follow!” One flies from the apple-tree, “Tu whilly!” towards the hollow; O, you birds, which one is right? If I may find my Milly, Shall I down the hollow go, Or up the meadow hilly? But down the hollow first I went, And like a bird I found her, Perched in a tree, with eglantine Upspringing all around her. And like a bird, she sang so sweet, I think the blossoms missed her, When I had led her home again, And held her close, and kissed her.