Part 2 — CANDOR
Reading edition
October—A Wood
I know what you're going to say," she said, And she stood 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 forget That day in June when the woods were wet, And you carried me"—here she drooped 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 rhyme, 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.
Henry Cuyler Bunner [1855-1896]