Of My Love.

Was ever a moon In joyous June As royal, radiant, rare as she, With her smiling lips, As she lightly trips Down through the autumn woods to me?

Never a queen On her throne, I ween, Had such a loyal slave as I. Ready to bear All her cares, I swear, Just for a fleeting kiss on the sly.

Oh for the day We gallop away To the curate's cottage, Gretna Green; Side by side, Groom and bride, Happy twenty and sweet sixteen!