Summer and Spring

    We sat under an old thorn-tree

    And talked away the night，

    Told all that had been said or done

    Since first we saw the light，

    And when we talked of growing up

    Knew that we‘d halved a soul

    And fell the one in t‘other’s arms

    That we might make it whole；

    Then Peter had a murdering look，

    For it seemed that he and she

    Had spoken of their childish days

    Under that very tree.

    O what a bursting out there was，

    And what a blossoming，

    When we had all the summer-time

    And she had all the spring！