An Irish Love-Song

In the years about twenty
(When kisses are plenty)
The love of an Irish lass fell to my fate—
So winsome and sightly,
So saucy and sprightly,
The priest was a prophet that christened her Kate.

Soft gray of the dawning,
Bright blue of the morning,
The sweet of her eye there was nothing to mate;
A nose like a fairy's,
A cheek like a cherry's,
And a smile—well, her smile was like—nothing but Kate.

To see her was passion,
To love her, the fashion;
What wonder my heart was unwilling to wait!
And, daring to love her,
I soon did discover
A Katharine masking as mischievous Kate.

No Katy unruly,
But Katharine, truly—
Fond, serious, patient, and even sedate;
With a glow in her gladness
That banishes sadness—
Yet stay! Should I credit the sunshine to Kate?

Love cannot outlive it,
Wealth cannot o'ergive it—
That saucy surrender she made at the gate.
O Time, be but human,
Spare the girl in the woman!
You gave me my Katharine—leave me my Kate!