  DOST thou idly ask to hear At what gentle seasons Nymphs relent, when lovers near Press the tenderest reasons? Ah, they give their faith too oft To the careless wooer; Maidens’ hearts are always soft— Would that men’s were truer! Woo the fair one, when around Early birds are singing; When, o’er all the fragrant ground, Early herbs are springing: When the brookside, bank, and grove, All with blossoms laden, Shine with beauty, breathe of love,— Woo her when, with rosy blush, Summer eve is sinking; When, on rills that softly gush, Stars are softly winking; When, through boughs that knit the bower, Moonlight gleams are stealing; Woo her, till the gentle hour Wakes a gentler feeling. Woo her, when autumnal dyes Tinge the woody mountain; When the dropping foliage lies In the weedy fountain; Let the scene that tells how fast Youth is passing over, Warn her, ere her bloom is past, To secure her lover. Woo her when the north winds call At the lattice nightly; When within the cheerful hall Blaze the fagots brightly; While the wintry tempest round Sweeps the landscape hoary, Sweeter in her ears shall sound Love’s delightful story. William Cullen Bryant. |
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