32
What now, my maiden most contrary,
My wayward, shy, delicious fairy?
Like gusts of February weather,
Never the same one hour together!
You'll change your mind before to-night—
How many times, you darling sprite?
What,—so you really think with me
A sweeter fate could hardly be
Than—looking in each other's eyes,
Through wet south winds, and low grey skies—
To sit, while Spring and Summer wait,
And swing together on a gate!
My wayward, shy, delicious fairy?
Like gusts of February weather,
Never the same one hour together!
You'll change your mind before to-night—
How many times, you darling sprite?
What,—so you really think with me
A sweeter fate could hardly be
Than—looking in each other's eyes,
Through wet south winds, and low grey skies—
To sit, while Spring and Summer wait,
And swing together on a gate!
