THE LOVER'S ALMANAC
Oh, hearts that wear the willow,
To you I tell my woe,
Why thus uncared, ungartered,
And all so pale I go.
Come, you wan lovers sighing
Who too have felt the thorn.
But let none heart-whole linger
To laugh my grief to scorn.
Demure in church on Sunday
My love I chanced to see.
Amidst her gentle praying
I vow she looked on me.
On Monday in the meadow
I lingered by the stile,
She did but touch my fingers.
And passed me with a smile.
On Tuesday, mute and rosy,
I stood upon her way,
My heart it nigh betrayed me,
“Good-morrow,” did she say.
With blushing cheek on Wednesday
Her path she went all slow;
How feared I such a fair maid?—
I could not move to go.
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