Classic Poem

Now when I came to that first stile
('Twas spring again, my dear)
I raised my head, and thanked my God;
I spoke it loud and clear.

When to the second stile I came,
(These April days are fleet)
I murmured: “Here a kiss she gave,
And how that kiss was sweet!”

But when the third stile stayed my foot,
(Look where the shadows fall)
I bent my head, with misted eyes,
And spoke no word at all.