The Same Old Story

The same old story told again-- The maiden droops her head, The ripening glow of her crimson cheek Is answering in her stead. The pleading tone of a trembling voice Is telling her the way He loved her when his heart was young In Youth's sunshiny day: The trembling tongue, the longing tone, Imploringly ask why They can not be as happy now As in the days gone by. And two more hearts, tumultuous With overflowing joy, Are dancing to the music Which that dear, provoking boy Is twanging on his bowstring, As, fluttering his wings, He sends his love-charged arrows While merrily be sings: 'Ho! ho! my dainty maiden, It surely can not be You are thinking you are master Of your heart, when it is me.' And another gleaming arrow Does the little god's behest, And the dainty little maiden Falls upon her lover's breast. 'The same old story told again,' And listened o'er and o'er, Will still be new, and pleasing, too, Till 'Time shall be no more.'