Candor

October--A Wood 'I know what you are going to say,' she said, And she stood up, looking uncommonly tall: 'You are going to the speak of the hectic fall, And say you're sorry the summer's dead, And no other summer was like it, you know, And can I imagine what made it so. Now aren't you, honestly?' 'Yes,' I said. 'I know what you're going to say,' she said: 'You are going to ask if I forget That day in June when the woods were wet, And you carried me'--here she drooped her head-- 'Over the creek; you are going to say, Do I remember that horrid day. Now aren't you, honestly?' 'Yes,' I said. 'I know what you are going to say,' she said: 'You are going to say that since that time You have rather tended to run to rhyme And'--her clear glance fell, and her cheek grew red-- 'And have I noticed your tone was queer. Why, everybody has seen it here! Now aren't you, honestly?' 'Yes,' I said. 'I now what you are going to say,' I said: 'You're going to say you've been much annoyed; And I'm short of tact--you will say, devoid-- And I'm clumsy and awkward; and call me 'Ted'; And I bear abuse like a dear old lamb; And you'll have me, anyway, just as I am. Now aren't you, honestly?' 'Ye-es,' she said.