Classic Poem

There is a laddie, and mine is he,
A merry laddie and fine to see.

And he has promised me ring and troth,
And he 'll build a warm nest to hold us both.

And so with hand and with lips vowed I
To be his own till the day I die.

I'll tell you, birch-tree with smooth white bark,
And you, big fir-tree of hue so dark,

And you, little flowers that gleam with dew,
And you, ye wavelets so bright and blue.

But silence! all of you. Don't forget
It must n't come to be talked of yet.

For only God in the sky may know,
And not a soul in the town below.