Classic Poem

Mimi, do you remember —
Don't get behind your fan —
That morning in September
On the cliffs of Grand Manan,
Where to the shock of Fundy
The topmost harebells sway
( Campanula rotundi-folia: cf. Gray)?

On the pastures high and level,
That overlook the sea,
Where I wondered what the devil
Those little things could be
That Mimi stooped to gather
As she strolled across the down,
And held her dress skirt rather —
Oh, now, you needn't frown.

For you know the dew was heavy
And your boots, I know, were thin;
So a little extra brevi-
ty in skirts was, sure, no sin.
Besides, who minds a cousin?
First, second, even third, —
I've kissed 'em by the dozen,
And they never once demurred.

" If one's allowed to ask it, "
Quoth I, " Ma belle cousine ,
What have you in your basket? "
(Those baskets white and green
The brave Passamaquoddies
Weave out of scented grass,
And sell to tourist bodies
Who through Mt. Desert pass.)

You answered, slightly frowning,
" Put down your stupid book —
That everlasting Browning! —
And come and help me look.
Mushroom you spik him English,
I call him champignon:
I'll teach you to distinguish
The right kind from the wrong. "

There was no fog on Fundy
That blue September day;
The west wind, for that one day,
Had swept it all away.
The lighthouse glasses twinkled,
The white gulls screamed and flew,
The merry sheep-bells tinkled,
The merry breezes blew.

The bayberry aromatic,
The papery immortelles
(That give our grandma's attic
That sentimental smell,
Tied up in little brush-brooms)
Were sweet as new-mown hay,
While we went hunting mushrooms
That blue September day.