MAID OF DENVER, ARE YOU CAMPING?
He:
“Maid of Denver, are you camping?
In my field your mules are tramping.
Please, Miss, do not think me rude;
’Tis not my intention to intrude.
Just this morn I saw your fire—
Thought I’d step down and inquire.”
She:
“Yes, sir; yes, sir; we are camping;
That’s our tent, there, in the willows.
Pa and Ma are fishing, I suppose:
Too bad, too bad, our team is tramping
In your meadow green and wide.
But, sir, oh, if you will kindly help me chase them out, sir,
My folks, henceforth, no doubt, sir,
Will be good enough to keep them tied.”
He:
“Maid of Denver, let them stay—let them stray;
They won’t hurt my clover—never, nay.
Happy creatures! Watch them race and leap!
Romp and roll, wallow in my herd’s grass—lush and deep!
Off! ye saucy rogues! Away, away! go frisk and play;
(They won’t harm my trifolium incarnatum, no, never—never, nay!)”