| |
| IT is the season now to go | |
| About the country high and low, | |
| Among the lilacs hand in hand, | |
| And two by two in fairy land. | |
| |
| The brooding boy, the sighing maid, | 5 |
| Wholly fain and half afraid, | |
| Now meet along the hazelled brook | |
| To pass and linger, pause and look. | |
| |
| A year ago, and blithely paired, | |
| Their rough-and-tumble play they shared; | 10 |
| They kissed and quarrelled, laughed and cried, | |
| A year ago at Eastertide. | |
| |
| With bursting heart, with fiery face, | |
| She strove against him in the race; | |
| He unabashed her garter saw, | 15 |
| That now would touch her skirts with awe. | |
| |
| Now by the stile ablaze she stops, | |
| And his demurer eyes he drops; | |
| Now they exchange averted sighs | |
| Or stand and marry silent eyes. | 20 |
| |
| And he to her a hero is | |
| And sweeter she than primroses; | |
| Their common silence dearer far | |
| Than nightingale and mavis are. | |
| |
| Now when they sever wedded hands, | 25 |
| Joy trembles in their bosom-strands, | |
| And lovely laughter leaps and falls | |
| Upon their lips in madrigals. | |
| |
