Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/139

 THE DOORSTEP

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, that 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,

'T was 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.

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