"She left the novel half-uncut

Upon the rosewood shelf;

She left the new piano shut :

She could not please herself.

"Then ran she, gamesome as the colt,

And livelier than a lark

She sent her voice thro' all the holt

Before her, and the park.

"A light wind chased her on the wing,

And in the chase grew wild,

As close as might be would he cling

About the darling child :

"But light as any wind that blows

So fleetly did she stir,

The flower, she touch'd on, dipt and rose,

And turn'd to look at her.

"And here she came, and round me play'd,

And sang to me the whole

Of those three stanzas that you made

About my 'giant bole';

"And in a fit of frolic mirth

She strove to span my waist:

Alas, I was so broad of girth,

I could not be embraced.

But tell me, did she read the name

I carved with many vows

When last with throbbing heart I came

To rest beneath thy boughs?

"O yes, she wander'd round and round

These knotted knees of mine,

And found, and kiss'd the name she found,

And sweetly murmur'd thine.

"A teardrop trembled from its source,

And down my surface crept.

My sense of touch is something coarse,

But I believe she wept.

"Then flush'd her cheek with rosy light,

She glanced across the plain;

But not a creature was in sight:

She kiss'd me once again.

"Her kisses were so close and kind,

That, trust me on my word,

Hard wood I am, and wrinkled rind,

But yet my sap was stirr'd :

"And even into my inmost ring

A pleasure I discern'd

Like those blind motions of the Spring,

That show the year is turn'd.