But I follow her from Spelling,
with her hand behind her—so—
And I slip the apple in it—
and the Teacher doesn't know!
I give my treasures to her—all,—
my pencil—blue-and-red;—
And, if little girls played marbles,
mine should all be hers, instead!—
But she gave me her photograph,
and printed "Ever Thine"
Across the back—in blue-and-red—
that old sweetheart of mine!
And again I feel the pressure
of her slender little hand,
As we used to talk together
of the future we had planned,—
When I should be a poet,
and with nothing else to do
But write the tender verses
that she set the music to....
When we should live together
in a cozy little cot
Hid in a nest of roses,
with a fairy garden-spot,
Where the vines were ever fruited
and the weather ever fine,
And the birds were ever singing
for that old sweetheart of mine....