May in February

When I go a Maying—Maying—There his wanton wishes go!Spring, like flowers, to meet me straying. . . .I must pluck them—will, or no!I must break each pale stalk slender:I must lift each flower fair;For I know they are the tenderThoughts of love that greet me there. . . .·······I will wear them on my bosom . . .In the night, when he comes homeHe shall see his thoughts in blossom,Oh Beloved Spring-time,Come!