The summer sun was soft and bland

As they went through the meadow land

Across the stream was scarce a step

And yet she feared to try the leap;

And he to still her sweet alarm

Must lift her over on his arm

She could not keep the narrow way

For still the little feet would stray

And ever must he bend t’undo

The tangled grasses from her shoe

From dainty rosebud lips in pout

Must kiss the perfect flower out!

Ah, little coquette! Fair deceit!

Some things are bitter that were sweet