Ballads : patriotic & romantic / by Clinton Scollard [electronic text]

WOOING SONG

'TWAS at the marge of summertide, ere mowers made the hay, When the sweet breath of eglantine blew up the meadow-way; The south-wind to its tender lute made many a mellow vow; "It's time to be a-wooing!" sang the red-bird on the bough; "Sooth, if you wish to woo her, why, you'd better woo her now!"

Ripe red the wilding strawberries were growing in the grass; "Oh, bending daisy blooms," said I, "and did you see her pass?" They nodded and they nodded, and they nodded once again, And there she was a-coming at the turning of the lane; My heart was fleeter than my feet, although my feet were fain.

Her smile was like the break o' dawn— (I'll give you just a clue!)

Her eyes, her hair, her cheeks, — but there, no simile will do! I clasped her willing hands in mine — (what little hands she had!) The red-bird kept a-chorusing; the very trees were, glad; Aye, all the world was gay that day around one lass and lad!