Of My Love
Was ever a moon
In joyous June
As royal, radiant, rare as she,
With her smiling lips,
As she lightly trips
Down through the autumn woods to me?
Never a queen
On her throne, I ween,
Had such a loyal slave as I.
Ready to bear
All her cares, I swear,
Just for a fleeting kiss on the sly.
Oh for the day
We gallop away
To the curate’s cottage, Gretna Green;
Side by side,
Groom and bride,
Happy twenty and sweet sixteen!