Classic Poem

Give me the night with moonshine bright!
The stars come forth to meet her,
The very snow is all aglow,
The dismal swamp looks sweeter;
When cows are fed, old folks in bed,
And young lads go a-larking,
And no one by with prying eye,
Oh, that's the time for sparking!

When all the “chores” are done out-doors,
The hearth is swept up trimly,
And the backlog bright, like jovial wight,
Is roaring up the chimley.
I listen oft his signal soft,
Till Tray sets up his barking—
For dogs as well as folks must tell
When anybody's sparking.

I've sat with him till the log burn'd dim,
And the owls were all too-whooing;
(For don't they spark, too, in the dark?
Ain't that their way of wooing?)
I ne'er could bear love anywhere,
Where folks were all remarking—
You act a part, but, bless your heart,
That's not what I call sparking.

At public halls, picnics and balls,
The lads will try to please you;
But it takes the bliss all from a kiss
If anybody sees you.
My old aunt says, in her young days,
Folks never woo'd the dark in;
It may be so, but oh, dear, oh!
They little knew of sparkin'.