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To see the girls come tripping past
Like snow-birds willing to be mated.
Not braver he that leaps the wall
By level musket-flashes litten,
Who longed to see me get the mitten.
But no, she blushed and took my arm !
We let the old folks have the highway,
Along a kind of lovers' by-way.
I can't remember what we said,
'Twas nothing worth a song or story, Yet that rude path by which we sped
Seemed all transformed and in a glory.
The snow was crisp beneath our feet,
The moon was full, the fields were gleaming ; By hood and tippet sheltered sweet
Her face with youth and health was beaming.
The little hand outside her muff
O sculptor, if you could but mould it!
To keep it warm I had to hold it.
To have her with me there alone
'Twas love and fear and triumph blended :