Poetry Archives

As I roved out on a May morning,
Being in the youthful spring,
I leaned my back close to the garden wall,
To hear the small birds sing.

And to hear two lovers talk, my dear,
To know what they would say,
That I might know a little of her mind
Before I would go away.

“Come sit you down, my heart,” he says,
“All on this pleasant green,
It’s full three-quarters of a year and more
Since together you and I have been.”

“I will not sit on the grass,” she said,
“Now nor any other time,
For I hear you’re engaged with another maid,
And your heart is no more of mine.

“Oh, I’ll not believe what an old man says,
For his days are well nigh done.
Nor will I believe what a young man says,
For he’s fair to many a one.

“But I will climb a high, high tree,
And rob a wild bird’s nest,
And I’ll bring back whatever I do find
To the arms I love the best,” she said,
“To the arms I love the best.”