Xviii

He, at parting, as they proceed down the garden:

You say we can not marry, now That roses and the June are here? To your decision I must bow.-- Ah, well!--perhaps ’t is best, my dear. Let’s swear again each old love vow And love another year.

Another year of love with you! Of dreams and days, of sun and rain! When field and forest bloom anew, And locust clusters pelt the lane, When all the song-birds wed and woo, I’ll not take “no” again.

Oft shall I lie awake and mark The hours by no clanging clock, But, in the dim and dewy dark, Far crowing of some punctual cock; Then up, as early as the lark To meet you by our rock.

The rock, where first we met at tryst; Where first I wooed and won your love.-- Remember how the moon and mist Made mystery of the heaven above As now to-night?--Where first I kissed Your lips, you trembling like a dove.

So, then, we will not marry now That roses and the June are here, That warmth and fragrance weigh each bough? And, yet, your reason is not clear ... Ah, well! We ’ll swear anew each vow And wait another year.