Classic Poem

HE

Though the summer goes too soon,
And the winter comes too quick,
Yet the bird sings out a tune
Up above the thatched rick,
And 'tis dry below the tree.
So a little longer yet,
Even though the sun be set,
You can rove up in the grove
Along with me.

SHE

No. 'Tis too damp in the dell
When the colder sun is gone,
Where the streams begin to swell
With the rains a-coming on.
On the air now floats no bee
For the honey he may get,
And the weather is too wet
Over head, or where I tread,
To go with thee.

HE

Oh! then when we shall have lost
All the rainless nights and days,
May there come the icy frost
That shall harden all the ways,
And the path o'er hill and lea,
So that when the moon may show
Us the way we have to go,
You at whiles may climb the stiles
Along with me.

SHE

No. For when the icy side
Of the knap is hard as steel,
Then I fear that I may slide,
And fall back from on my heel,
Though for all that, we may see,
That with shoes more roughly soled,
And with steps that better hold,
You some night, when it is light,
May come to me.

HE

Oh! As if I wish'd to rub
My two elbows in a crowd,
And would seek a talking club
To hear voices high and loud.
'Tis but you I care to see.

SHE

I might see you to the gate
And it might not be too late,
By the green old ivy screen,
To talk with me.