To say why gals acts so or so, Or don't, 'ould be presumin'; Mebby to mean _yes_ an' say _no_ Comes nateral to women.
He stood a spell on one foot fust, Then stood a spell on t'other, An' on which one he felt the wust He couldn't ha' told ye nuther.
Says he, "I'd better call agin"; Says she, "Think likely, Mister"; Thet last work pricked him like a pin, An'--Wal, he up an' kist her.
When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, Huldy sot pale ez ashes, All kin' o' smily roun' the lips An' teary roun' the lashes.
For she was jes' the quiet kind Whose naturs never vary, Like streams that keep a summer mind Snowhid in Jenooary.
The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued Too tight for all expressin', Tell mother see how metters stood, An' gin 'em both her blessin'.
Then her red come back like the tide Down to the Bay o' Fundy. An' all I know is they was cried In meetin' come nex' Sunday.
It was the twilight hour; Behind the western hill the sun had sunk, Leaving the evening sky aglow with crimson light. The air is filled with fragrance and with sound; High in the tops of shadowy vine-wreathed trees, Grave parent-birds were twittering good-night songs, To still their restless brood. Across the way A noisy little brook made pleasant Music on the summer air, And farther on, the sweet, faint sound Of Whippoorwill Falls rose on the air, and fell Like some sweet chant at vespers. The air is heavy With the scent of mignonette and rose, And from the beds of flowers the tall White lilies point like angel fingers upward, Casting on the air an incense sweet, That brings to mind the old, old story Of the alabaster box that loving Mary Broke upon the Master's feet.
Upon his vine-wreathed porch An old white-headed man sits dreaming Happy, happy dreams of days that are no more; And listening to the quaint old song With which his daughter lulled her child to rest:
"Abide with me," she says; "Fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens,-- Lord, with me abide."
And as he listens to the sounds that fill the Summer air, sweet, dreamy thoughts Of his "lost youth" come crowding thickly up; And, for a while, he seems a boy again. With feet all bare He wades the rippling brook, and with a boyish shout Gathers the violets blue, and nodding ferns, That wave a welcome from the other side. With those he wreathes The sunny head of little Nell, a neighbor's child, Companion of his sorrows and his joys. Sweet, dainty Nell, whose baby life Seemed early linked with his, And whom he loved with all a boy's devotion.