The Courtin’. James Russell Lowell

Zekle crep’ up, quite unbeknown,
An’ peeked in thru the winder,
An there sot Huldy all alone,
‘ith no one nigh to hender.

Agin’ the chimbly crooknecks hung,
An’ in among ’em rusted
The ole queen’s arm thet gran’ther Young
Fetched back from Concord busted.

The wannut logs shot sparkles out
Toward the pootiest, bless her!
An’ leetle fires danced all about
The chiny on the dresser.

The very room, coz she wuz in,
Looked warm frum floor to ceilin’.
An’ she looked full ez rosy agin
Ez th’ apple she wuz peelin’.

She heerd a foot an’ knowd it, tu,
Araspin’ on the scraper—
All ways to once her feelins flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.

He kin’ o’ l’itered on the mat,
Some doubtfle of the seekle:
His heart kep’ goin’ pitypat,
But hern went pity Zekle.