Melancholics

The thrutli in ihc thictel is singing, The Inrk is abroad on the lea, And over the golden gate swinging, A midden is waiting tor me. She will wait t i 11 she's weary, I'm thinking-, Tfiough eagcr am I for thé tr si ; Shc willwait till thebright stars ;ire blinking, And sich for the kisses sheV misted. For her father is watchful and wary, A very ill-tempered old churl, And Pin not the sort of ctun To be kicked for the 1qvoi a girl.