You say you cannot wed me, now
That roses and the June are here?
To your decision I must bow.—
Ah, well!‘ tis just as well, my dear:
We'll swear again each old love vow,
And wait another year.
Another year of love with you!
Of dreams and doubts, of sun and rain!
When field and forest bloom anew,
And locust clusters pelt the lane,
When all the song-birds wed and woo,
I'll not take “no” again.
Oft shall I lie awake and mark
The hours by no clanging clock,
But in the dim and distant dark
The crowing of some punctual cock;
Then up as early as the lark
To meet you by our rock.
The rock where first we met at tryst;
Where first I wooed and won your love —
Remember how the moon and mist
Made mystery of the heaven above
As now to-night?— How first I kissed
Your lips, you trembling like a dove?
So, then, you cannot wed me now
That roses and the June are here,
That warmth and fragrance weigh each bough?
And yet your reason is not clear.
Ah, well! We'll swear anew each vow,
And wait another year.