The Lover's Invitation

Now the wheat is in the ear, and the rose is on the brere,
And blue-caps so divinely blue, with poppies of
bright scarlet hue,
Maiden, at the close o' eve, wilt thou, dear, thy
cottage leave,
And walk with one that loves thee?

When the even's tiny tears bead upon the grassy spears,
And the spider's lace is wet with its pinhead blebs of dew,
Wilt thou lay thy work aside and walk by brook-
lets dim descried,
Where I delight to love thee?

While thy footfall lightly press'd tramples by the sky-lark's nest,
And the cockle's streaky eyes mark the snug place
where it lies,
Mary, put thy work away, and walk at dewy close o'day
With me to kiss and love thee.

There's something in the time so sweet, when lovers
in the evening meet,
The air so still, the sky so mild, like slumbers of
the cradled child,
The moon looks over fields of love, among the ivy
sleeps the dove;
To see thee is to love thee.