The morning’ s clear, the sky without a frown,
The dew-bespangled pastures wet the shoe;
Sauntering full early toward the sleeping town,
We’ ll take the dry, well-trodden avenue;
On these crisp pathways, and familiar grounds
( Unless my flattering heart be over-bold ),
While lingering purposely amid our rounds,
Some shady lane may love to hear all told.
One name has captured his too partial ear,—
( These kind, concealing bushes love invite
No tell-tales are, nor neighbors impolite;)
I’ ll hear his suit devoid of blame or fear.
Impatiently the moment I await;
Who nothing ventures, stays disconsolate.