(Macmillan's Magazine, May 1865.)
Where were you last night? I watched at the gate;I went down early, I stayed down late. Were you snug at home, I should like to know,Or were you in the coppice wheedling Kate?
She's a fine girl, with a fine clear skin;Easy to woo, perhaps not hard to win. Speak up like a man and tell me the truth:I'm not one to grow downhearted and thin.
If you love her best speak up like a man;It's not I will stand in the light of your plan: Some girls might cry and scold you a bit,And say they couldn't bear it; but I can.
Love was pleasant enough, and the days went fast;Pleasant while it lasted, but it needn't last; Awhile on the wax and awhile on the wane,Now dropped away into the past.
Was it pleasant to you? To me it was;Now clean gone as an image from glass, As a goodly rainbow that fades away,As dew that steams upward from the grass,
As the first spring day, or the last summer day,As the sunset flush that leaves heaven grey, As a flame burnt out for lack of oil,Which no pains relight or ever may.
Good luck to Kate and good luck to you:I guess she'll be kind when you come to woo. I wish her a pretty face that will last,I wish her a husband steady and true.
Hate you? not I, my very good friend;All things begin and all have an end. But let broken be broken; I put no faithIn quacks who set up to patch and mend.
Just my love and one word to Kate:Not to let time slip if she means to mate;-- For even such a thing has been knownAs to miss the chance while we weigh and wait.