JENNY LOW.
Reading edition
———
BY C. M. JOHNSON.
———
When first I pressed thy cheek, love,
’Twas in the month of May,
You chidingly rebuked me,
Yet bid me longer stay—
And gave me back my kiss, love,
Before I went away.
And when I met thee last, love,
Beneath the trysting-tree,
Before I went away, love,
Beyond the roaring sea,
That dewy kiss at parting
Was a priceless gem to me.
They wrote me of thy death, love,
How could it ever be!
And that those lips in dying
Were whispering for me—
The very lips that I had pressed
Beneath the trysting-tree.
O! all the wealth I’ve hoarded
I’d freely give away,
Could I that day live o’er again,
In the pleasant month of May;
And could I but renew that kiss
I’d give my life away.