Eugene Field

By My Sweetheart

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
  When birds are on the wing,
When bee and bud and babbling flood
  Bespeak the birth of spring,
Come, sweetheart, be my sweetheart
  And wear this posy-ring!

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
  In the mellow golden glow
Of earth aflush with the gracious blush
  Which the ripening fields foreshow;
Dear sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
  As into the noon we go!

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
  When falls the bounteous year,
When fruit and wine of tree and vine
  Give us their harvest cheer;
Oh, sweetheart, be my sweetheart,
  For winter it draweth near.

Sweetheart, be my sweetheart
  When the year is white and old,
When the fire of youth is spent, forsooth,
  And the hand of age is cold;
Yet, sweetheart, be my sweetheart
  Till the year of our love be told!