Page:Field Poems of Childhood.djvu/142



IS when the lark goes soaring

And the bee is at the bud,

When lightly dancing zephyrs

Sing over field and flood;

When all sweet things in nature

Seem joyfully achime—

'Tis then I wake my darling,

For it is kissing time!

Go, pretty lark, a-soaring,

And suck your sweets, O bee;

Sing, O ye winds of summer,

Your songs to mine and me;

For with your song and rapture

Cometh the moment when

It's half-past kissing time

And time to kiss again!

So—so the days go fleeting

Like golden fancies free,

And every day that cometh

Is full of sweets for me;