Who longed to see me get the mitten.
But no, she blushed and took my arm!
We let the old folks have the highway,
And started toward the Maple Farm,
Along a kind of lovers’ by-way.
I can’t remember what we said,
’Twas nothing worth a song or story,
Yet that rude path by which we sped
Seemed all transformed and in a glory.
The snow was crisp beneath our feet,