Constance.
Beyond the orchard, in the lane,
The crested red-bird sings again -
O bird, whose song says, Have no care.
Should I not care when CONSTANCE there, -
My CONSTANCE, with the bashful gaze,
Pink-gowned like some sweet hollyhock, -
If I declare my love, just says
Some careless thing as if in mock?
Like - Past the orchard, in the lane,
How sweet the red-bird sings again!
There, while the red-bird sings his best,
His listening mate sits on the nest -
O bird, whose patience says, All's well,
How can it be with me, now tell?
When CONSTANCE, with averted eyes, -
Soft-bonneted as some sweet-pea, -
If I speak marriage, just replies
With some such quaint irrelevancy,
As, While the red-bird sings his best,
His loving mate sits on...