Classic Poem

In the wild there is a dead antelope,
And it is wrapped up with the white grass.
There is a young lady with thoughts natural to the spring.
And a fine gentleman would lead her astray.

In the forest there are the scrubby oaks;
In the wild there is a dead deer,
And it is bound round with the white grass.
There is a young lady like a gem.

She says, “Slowly; gently, gently;
Do not move my handkerchief;
Do not make my dog bark.”