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The conference meeting through at last,

We boys around the vestry waited,



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,
Than I, who stepped before them all

Who longed to see me get the mitten.

But no, she blushed and took my arm !

We let the old folks have the highway,
And started toward the Maple Farm

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!
So lightly touched my jacket-cuff,

To keep it warm I had to hold it.

To have her with me there alone

'Twas love and fear and triumph blended :

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