Classic Poem

I' D have thought it more romantic
Had we been some birthdays older,
Or if you'd been less pedantic,
And I just a trifle bolder.
But you looked like such a maiden
As one would not dare to flutter,
With your bag of school-books laden,
And the task I heard you mutter.
So I only sat and looked,
And you only sat and read,
And we could not be rebuked
For anything ill-bred.

I'd have though it more romantic
Had the scene been somewhat finer,
Were it crossing the Atlantic
Cabin passage on a liner;
On a stage-coach even, sitting,
As true lovers long ago did,
Or a ferry-boat were fitting,
Some fine morning, overloaded.
But we met as fate preferred,
In a vulgar railway-train,
Where the carriage was a third;
And the seats were hard and plain.

I'd have thought it more romantic
Had there been an introduction,
But though courtiers may go frantic,
Fate is deaf to all instruction.
Yet while one must live politely,
Be it ne'er so inconvenient,
And as custom binds so tightly
Luck might sometimes be more lenient.
Still—by a curious hap—
I saw your pretty name,
On the bag, below the flap,
When you opened up the same.

And in Rob Roy's part of Stirling,
remember where to drop at,
For the railway now goes whirling
Where the coaches used to stop at.
I can fancy what your home is,
What the garden and the gate is,
Neat and sweet as honey-comb is,
Trim with roses and clematis.
And you might be at the door,
Or a window open wide,
And apparelled as before
With a maiden's modest pride.

But I'd think it most poetic
Should I find you some vacation,
Seeking intercourse æsthetic
In a classic compilation;
But the ancient slightly hateful
When you wanted to be merry,
And a modern bard more grateful
To your taste—sweet Katie Berry.
Ah! my Katie—bonnie Kate—
If we ever meet anew
And it be not all too late
I'll pluck heart enough to woo.