Folks called it a boy's passing fancy,―
And yet I recall with a thrill,
That first time I walked home with Nancy
Through the logging-road round by the mill.
'Twas spelling-school night one December,
And when the sharp contest was o'er,
I waited for her, I remember,
Outside, by the old schoolhouse door.
Oh, how my poor heart thumped and choked me!
For there at my left stood Dick Pearl,
A fellow who always provoked me,―
(O yes! we both loved the same girl.)
My rival! shall he seize the treasure?
The blood in my veins throbbed and burned.
My boots beat irregular measure,―
I tried to seem cool unconcerned.
At last, they flocked out of the entry!
Regardless of badinage sly;
I boldly stepped forth like a sentry
To challenge one small passer-by.
She blushed―took my arm―O wild rapture!
Away fled cold doubt and alarm!
Triumphant, I bore home my capture
While over the earth fell a charm.
Folks called it a boy's passing fancy,
Yet―somehow―I cannot forget
That first time I walked home with Nancy
By the mill where the logging-roads met.
To have her again here beside me
And feel that wild, passionate thrill,
Though all else beside were denied me,
I'd count this life dear to me still.
