Through the meadows across the road.
She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up,
And filled for him her small tin cup;
And blushed as she gave it, looking down
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown.
“Thanks! said the judge, a sweeter draught
From a fairer hand was never quaffed.”
He spoke of the grass, and flowers, and trees,
Of the singing birds, and the humming bees;
Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether