A Pastoral

Along the lane beside the mead
Where cowslip-gold is in the grass
I matched the milkmaid's easy speed,
A tall and springing country lass:
But though she had a merry plan
To shield her from my soft replies,
Love played at Catch-me-if-you-Can
In Mary's eyes.
A mile or twain from Varley Bridge
I plucked a dock-leaf for a fan,
And drove away the constant midge,
And cooled her forehead's strip of tan.
But though the maiden would not spare
My hand her pretty finger-tips,
Love played at Kiss-me-if-you-Dare
On Mary's lips.
And now the village flashed in sight,
And closer came I to her side;
A flush ran down into the white,
The impulse of a pinky tide:
And though her face was turned away,
How much her panting heart confessed,
Love played at Find-me-if-you-May
In Mary's breast.