Classic Poem

A LONG the lane beside the mead
—Where cowslip-gold is in the grass
I matched the milkmaid's easy speed,
—A tall and springing country lass:
But though she had a merry plan
—To shield her from my soft replies,
Love played at Catch-me-if-you-Can
———In Mary's eyes.

A mile or twain from Varley bridge
—I plucked a dock-leaf for a fan,
And drove away the constant midge,
—And cooled her forehead's strip of tan.
But though the maiden would not spare
—My hand her pretty finger-tips,
Love played at Kiss-me-if-you-Dare
———On Mary's lips.

Since time was short and blood was bold,
—I drew me closer to her side,
And watched her freckles change from gold
—To pink beneath a blushing tide.
But though she turned her face away,
—How much her panting heart confessed!
Love played at Find-me-for-you-May
———In Mary's breast.