Candor

From “Airs from Arcady and Elsewhere”

OCTOBER—A WOOD

“I KNOW what you’re going to say,” she said—

And she rose up, looking uncommonly tall—

“You are going to speak of the hectic fall,

And say you’re sorry the summer’s dead,

And no other summer was like it, you know,

And can I imagine what made it so.

Now, aren’t you, honestly?” “Yes,” I said.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said;

“You are going to ask if I forgot

That day in June when the woods were wet,

And you carried me”—here she dropped her head—

“Over the creek; you are going to say,

Do I remember that horrid day.

Now, aren’t you, honestly?” “Yes,” I said.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she said;

“You are going to say that since that time

You have rather tended to run to rime,

And”—her clear glance fell and her cheek grew red—

“And have I noticed your tone was queer?—

Why, everybody has seen it here!—

Now, aren’t you, honestly?” “Yes,” I said.

“I know what you’re going to say,” I said;

“You’re going to say you’ve been much annoyed,

And I’m short of tact—you will say devoid—

And I’m clumsy and awkward, and call me Ted,

And I bear abuse like a dear old lamb,

And you’ll have me, anyway, just as I am.

Now, aren’t you, honestly?” “Ye-es,” she said.