’Twas summer when next they stood on the bridge;
There were pears on the pear-tree, tall corn on the ridge;
The swallows wheeled round them, far up in the blue,
Then swooped down and snapped up a midgelet or two.
Said he: ‘Lest some trifle should come in the way,
And part us again, will you mention the day?’
She stood, looking down on the fast-flowing rill,
Then answered, demurely: ‘As soon as you will!’
H. L. R.