Classic Poem

" I love my Love in the days of Spring,
With her I'll go a-garlanding,
A-garlanding in the merry May,
Laughing and singing all the day.
We roam the woods, we trace the streams,
Our waking thoughts are bright as dreams;
No bee on the blossom, no lark in the sky,
Is happier than my love and I."

I love to swing in the garden-bowers,
Under the branches all alone; —
I've heard your speeches, full of flowers,
Till I am weary of the hours —
So, prithee, babbler, get you gone.
Can you not leave me to myself?
I want to swing and not to woo;
I've had no rest, since first betrothed,
I've been a listener to you.

" I'll love my Love in the Summer-time,
Our years shall ripen to their prime;
We'll sit in the shade a little more,
Beneath the elm-trees at our door;
We'll watch the joy our children run,
We'll give the world our benison;
No bird in its nest on the tree-tops high
Shall be more blithe than my Love and I."

'Tis very well. You talk: — no doubt: —
Let go the rope — pick up my glove —
You're in the way — stand further out —
You'll make me scold, you awkward lout.
And so you call such fancies, " Love? "
You cannot help it? — " Love," indeed!
I vow I'll never praise it more;
I'd just as soon praise two and two
For condescending to be four!

" I'll love my Love in the Autumn eves,
We'll gather in our barley sheaves,
We'll reap our corn, we'll press our vine,
We'll hear on the hills our lowing kine;
We'll pluck our peaches from the wall,
We'll give our friends a festival:
There is no joy the world can buy
That we shall not share; — my Love and I."

Ah, well! I think I'll be resigned;
But, prithee, let me swing in peace, —
I cannot hear the whispering wind,
Nor stockdove in the woods behind,
You make such prattle, — will you cease?
Do stand aside and give me room, —
If thus our stream of life must flow,
I'll bear as calmly as I can
The love you've threatened to bestow.

" I'll love my Love in the Winter cold,
So shall our tale of life be told;
We'll sit together by the hearth,
Spectators of a younger mirth;
And as the children come and go
We'll dwell in the light where their faces glow;
We'll live in love; and loving die,
And still love on, my Love and I."

There — take my hand — put on my glove —
And help me gently from the swing,
I've had enough — and as for love,
I swear by all yon clouds above,
I cannot trust in such a thing.
And yet — 'tis pleasant to believe
That some one loves us — not in vain —
So, sweetheart, when you swing me next,
I'd like to hear that song again.