Classic Poem

When the year is young, and the heart is young,
And the billing birds sing to each other;
When the blossoms sweet, and the breezes sweet
Are so tenderly kissing each other—
Then why should I not kiss thee?
So a kiss, a kiss, my sweet.

When the year is old, and the heart is old,
And the birds never sing to each other;
When the bushes bleak, and the wild winds bleak
Are so frigidly greeting each other—
Wouldst thou not e'en so greet me?
So a kiss, a kiss, my sweet.