22
PANSIES.
I met a little maid in garden gay—
She turned from me, and stopped to gather pansies,
The cuckoo called aloud—the month was May—
Her heart brimful of tender little fancies.
I said "Well met, dear maid, this summer day!"
She looked at me with earnest little glances—
"What do you, Sir, within my garden gay?"
And then she turned again to gather pansies.
She turned from me, and stopped to gather pansies,
The cuckoo called aloud—the month was May—
Her heart brimful of tender little fancies.
I said "Well met, dear maid, this summer day!"
She looked at me with earnest little glances—
"What do you, Sir, within my garden gay?"
And then she turned again to gather pansies.
"One flower," I said, "dear maid, one flower, I pray!"
Bright butterflies flew by in airy dances—
She smiled a little smile of half-delay—
The cuckoo shrilled—Ah me, for lover's chances!
"My flowers " she said, "are blowing every way,
My gilliflowers, my cowslips, and sweet Nancies—
Take what you will in all my garden gay,
But leave me, Sir, beseech you, these my pansies!"
Bright butterflies flew by in airy dances—
She smiled a little smile of half-delay—
The cuckoo shrilled—Ah me, for lover's chances!
"My flowers " she said, "are blowing every way,
My gilliflowers, my cowslips, and sweet Nancies—
Take what you will in all my garden gay,
But leave me, Sir, beseech you, these my pansies!"
