The Bashful Shepherdess
No shady fruit-tree
In the early year
Dec with blossoms sweet
In the day dawn clear
So gladdens my eyes,
And raises my heart,
As when I catch sight
Of my own sweetheart.
He says, if I like,
In the fair springtime
We will married be,
For his love I see.
But to tell him yes
I feel such shame,
And no to answer
Gives still more pain.
But a thousand times yes,
The very first time
That he asks again,
Is the answer mine.
Iglesias (d. 1791).