THREE summers have gone since the first time we met, love, br And still 'tis in vain that I ask thee to wed ; br I hear no reply but a gentle " Not yet, love," br With a smile of your lip, and a shake of your head. br Ah ! how oft have I whispered, how oft have I sued thee, br And breathed my soul's question of " When shall it be ?" br You know, dear, how long and how truly I've wooed thee, br So don't tell the world that you're waiting for me. br br I have fashioned a home, where the fairies might dwell, love, br I've planted the myrtle, the rose, and the vine ; br But the cottage to me is a mere hermit's cell, love, br And the bloom will be dull till the flowers are thine. br I've a ring of bright gold, which I gaze on when lonely, br And sigh with Hope's eloquence, " When will it be ?" br There needs but thy " Yes," love--one little word only, br So don't tell the world that you're waiting for me.