Edward MacDowell - Through the Meadow

The summer sun was soft and bland
As they went through the meadow land
Across the stream was scarce a step
And yet she feared to try the leap;
And he to still her sweet alarm
Must lift her over on his arm
She could not keep the narrow way
For still the little feet would stray
And ever must he bend t’undo
The tangled grasses from her shoe
From dainty rosebud lips in pout
Must kiss the perfect flower out!
Ah, little coquette! Fair deceit!
Some things are bitter that were sweet