The sun-face dandelions are smiling all about,
While long-arm grasses wave up like a shout.
I lean against a young birch tree
That stands up straight and fair,
A-waiting for my secret love,
To see her walking there.
She does not know I love her, yet;
She has not seen me look.
For three straight days she’s passed this way,
Her eyes down in her book.
But “Heroes Of Old” the title is,
Her face with joy is rapt.
When first I saw her walking bold
I knew that I was trapped.
My breath was taken swift away
As steady she passed by,
And I knew spring began that day,
Though it was late July.
As on she walked with bearing firm,
Yet light as April air,
I knew tomorrow at this time
That I would be right there.
Now three days straight, it is enough;
On four, today, I’ll act.
The book is almost finished now;
“Young Hero” must be cracked.
She comes! The last page turns; she reads.
This is the very end!
A hero wills, and moves, and leads,
Then his clear voice he sends!
“Excuse me, Miss, that book you’ve got,
Is it supremely great?”
Now two blue eyes look up at me,
And meet me very straight.
“Today is number four,” she says,
“I’m glad it is the last.
In secret I’ve been watching you,
As every day I passed.”
Oh, sun-face dandelions, they
May turn to fluff and fly,
And long-arm grasses, they
May fall away and die,
But heroes young, and light as air,
Walk arm in arm and have no care!