The teacher was wise and learned, I wis, All nonsense she held in scorning, But you never can tell what the primmest miss Will do of a bright spring morning.
What this one did was to spread a snare For feet of a youth unheeding, As March, with a meek and lamb-like air, To its very last hour was speeding.
Oh, he was the dullard of his class, For how can a youth get learning With his eyes aye fixed on a pretty lass And his heart aye filled with yearning?
“Who finds‘ mong the rushes which fringe a pool,” She told him, “the first wind blossom, May wish what he will” — poor April fool, With but one wish in his bosom.
Her gray eyes danced — on a wild-goose chase He'd sally forth on the morrow, And, later, she'd laugh in his sombre face, And jest at his words of sorrow.
But penitence and a troubled mind Were fruits of the night's reflection; After all, he was simple, and strong, and kind — ‘ Twas wrong to flout his affection.
They met on the hill as she walked to school; He said, unheeding her blushes, “Here's the early flower your April fool Found growing among the rushes.
“Take it or leave it as you will” — His voice ringing out so clearly Awoke in her heart a happy thrill — “You know that I love you dearly.”
Day-dreams indulged as she taught the school Held lovers kneeling and suing; “Take it or leave it” — her April fool Was masterful in his wooing.
He gave her the flower — she gave him a kiss — His suit she had long been scorning; But you never can tell what the primmest miss Will do of a bright spring morning.
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