Fur-apparelled for the skating,

Comes the pond's acknowledged Belle:

I am duly there in waiting,

For I'll lose no time in stating

That I love the lady well.

Then to don her skates, and surely

Mine the task to fit them tight,

Strap and fasten them securely,

While she offers me, demurely,

First the left foot then the right.

Off she circles, swiftly flying

To the pond's extremest verge;

Then returning, and replying

With disdain to all my sighing,

And the love I dare not urge.

Vainly do I follow after,

She's surrounded in a trice,

Other men have come and chaffed her,

And the echo of her laughter

Comes across the ringing ice.

Still I've hope, a hope that never

In my patient heart is dead;

Though fate for a time might sever,

Though she skated on for ever,

I would follow where she fled.