"Now, Mary, what's the matter
What's come o'er you, dear,
That all your lightsome chatter
Is no more to hear?"
"'Tis nothing, mother deary,
Worth your care at all.
Who'd not be dull and weary
In so dark a Fall?"

"Because brown leaves are fluttering, 
Skies are seldom bright,
Will heart-whole girls go uttering
Sighs from morn to night?"
"Well since you're so perceiving,
Mothereen astore,
P'raps I've been make-believing,
Though my heart was sore."

"Would Mary's heart be sorer,
If one Myles O'Hea
Had asked her father for her
And got his wish to-day?"
"O Mother there's brave news for me,
Now you've brought me joy!"
"My dear, if you'd set, 'Choose for me!'
I'd have chose that boy."