When in dry hollows, hilled with hay,
The vesper-sparrow sings afar;
And golden gray dusk dies away
Beneath the amber evening-star:
There, where a warm and shadowy arm
The woodland lays around the farm,
I’ll meet you at the tryst, the tryst!
And kiss your lips no man hath kissed!
I’ll meet you at the twilight tryst,—
With a hey and a ho!—
Sweetheart!
I’ll kiss you at the tryst!
When clover fields smell cool with dew,
And crickets cry, and roads are still;
And faint and few the fireflies strew
The dark where calls the whippoorwill;
There, in the lane, where sweet again
The petals of the wild-rose rain,
I’ll take in mine your hand, your hand!
And say the words you’ll understand!
Your soft hand nestling in my hand,—
With a hey and a ho!—
Sweetheart!
All loving hand in hand!