Or whispers a stranger soft words in her ear?
On second thoughts, better, moon, darling, be mute,
The odious trade of a telltale eschewing;
Or perhaps you might tell her—and that would not suit—
What yesterday evening myself I was doing!
XVI.
The bee ever makes for the flower,
And lads after lassies will go;
Was it otherwise, grandam so sour,
In the days of thy youth long ago?