Love hailed a little maid,
  Romping through the meadow:
  Heedless in the sun she played,
  Scornful of the shadow.
  "Come with me," whispered he;
  "Listen, sweet, to love and reason."
  "By and by," she mocked reply;
  "Love's not in season."

  Years went, years came;
  Light mixed with shadow.
  Love met the maid again,
  Dreaming through the meadow.
  "Not so coy," urged the boy;
  "List in time to love and reason."
  "By and by," she mused reply;
  "Love's still in season."

  Years went, years came;
  Light changed to shadow.
  Love saw the maid again,
  Waiting in the meadow.
  "Pass no more; my dream is o'er;
  I can listen now to reason."
  "Keep thee coy," mocked the boy;
  "Love's out of season."