When she was as gay as a linnet,
And I was as fresh as a lark,
Never a day but some minute
We met betwixt dawning and dark.
"Katie, and when shall we marry?"
"Marry?" she said, with a sigh, —
"That's cake and ribbons on Monday,
And sorrow ere Saturday's by.
"You are as lean as a lizard,
I am as poor as a mouse;
Nothing per annum, paid quarterly,
Hardly finds rent for a house.
"'Love and a crust in a cottage,'
Capital! just for a pair:
What if the hut should grow populous?
How would the populace fare?
"Oh, ay! the uncle you reckon on, —
Gouty, and rich, and unwed, —
Dick! they wait ill, says the adage, who
Wait for the shoes of the dead.
"Ah! if I loved you, I'd risk it!
That's what you're thinking, I guess: —
Why, I would risk it to-morrow,
Dick, if I cared for you less!
"Love's apt to fly out at window
When Poverty looks in at door:
Rather I'd die than help banish him,
Dick, just by keeping you poor.
"Kiss me! you'll look in on Sunday?
Won't my new bonnet be brave?
June at its longest and leafiest —
My! what a ramble we'll have!
"Bye-bye! There's grandmother waiting
Patient at home for her tea:
Dick, if you wouldn't wed both of us,
You must be patient for me!"
Showers, if they ruffle its foliage,
Freshen the green of the grove;
True lovers' tiffs, said old Terence, are
Only fresh fuel to love.
If I flung off in a passion —
If she crept in for a cry —
Sunday came smiling and settled it,
Katie was wiser than I.
Love's but a baby that, passionate,
Cries to be mated, at birth:
Time isn't lost if it teaches you
What a good woman is worth.
What if the waiting was wearisome?
What if the work-days were drear?
Time, the old thief, couldn't rob us of
Fifty-two Sundays a year.
