Classic Poem

What will my father say
To a poor man's son?
I will think of a way;
My father must be won.

Love, I know, is strong,
And breaks the barriers down,
Fighting with sword and song,
A champion of renown.

But oh, for the lover's art
That finds the happiest way!
Best to strike at his heart,
And tell him all to-day?

Or after harvest-home
When the leaves begin to fall,
Hand in hand we'll come,
And he shall tell him all?

But now while sweet birds sing
We can roam in the woods all day,
And swing on the orchard swing:
That is the happiest way.