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O tell me where did Katy live,
And yet so wicked, too?
Did Katy love a naughty man,
Or kiss more cheeks than one?
I warrant Katy did no more
Dear me! I'll tell you all about
My fuss with little Jane,
And Ann, with whom I used to walk So often down the lane,
And all that tore their locks of black,
Or wet their eyes of blue,
Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid,
Ah no! the living oak shall crash,
The rock shall rend its mossy base
Before the little Katydid
Shall add one word, to tell
The mystic story of the maid
Whose name she knows so well.
Peace to the ever-murmuring race!
Shall fold in death her feeble wings
Beneath the autumn sun,
Then shall she raise her fainting voice And lift her drooping lid,
And then the child of future years
Shall hear what Katy did.
Now, by the blessed Paphian queen,
Before my morning star grew dark;
By all that thrills the beating heart;
I cannot choose between the two.
I saw a row of twenty beams;
From every beam a rope was hung,
In every rope a lover swung;
That bade each luckless lover die;
And ten accused the darker hue.
I asked a matron, which she deemed
She answered, some thought both were fair,-
I asked a maiden; back she flung
The locks that round her forehead hung,
I felt as if my hair would blaze;
She liked all eyes but eyes of green;
She looked at me; what could she mean?
Ah! many lids Love lurks between,
Look not beneath his azure veil,