  Thou'rt bonnie, my steed, though a bit out of style, We've traveled together full many a mile; Yet nothing can give me such perfect delight As to spring to thy saddle and spin out of sight, Away from the city of turmoil and strife, Away from the cares that beset business life, To a shady, green-carpeted country retreat, Where hearts ever loving may placidly beat. Away over pathways with dewdrops bespangled, Where myrtle and wild morning-glory are tangled, And the violet borrows its velvety hue From the God-given radiance of heaven's own blue. And cowslips and buttercups grow where we tread, The breeze whispers soft through the trees overhead, As showers of pink blossoms, with fragrance so rare, They shed o'er the ground, over us,—everywhere. Thou faithful old friend, always ready to go; Ne'er found out of order like others I know; And when off we go for a nice little spin, Unlike others, thou'st never left me to "walk in." Exchange for another that's handsome and new! No, no, bonnie steed, I will not part with you. But when thou art old and thy usefulness o'er, In a nice, cozy attic thy frame I will store, And every day, be it sunshine or rain, I'll steal to thy side and in fancy again We'll skim the green meadows, my steed, you and I, 'Mong the flowers that grow 'neath the soft, tender sky. Then come, let us bask in the dewy delight Of the country—hi! ho! we are soon out of sight. Though a bit out of style, just the same is thy speed. I love thee! I love thee! my bonnie bright steed. |
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