In the years about twenty
(When kisses are plenty)
The love of an Irish lass fell to my fate --
So winsome and slightly,
So saucy and sprightly,
The priest was a prophet that christened her Kate.

Soft gray of the dawning,
Bright blue of the morning,
The sweet of her eye there was nothing to mate;
A nose like a fairy's,
A cheek like a cherry's,
And a smile -- well, her smile was like -- nothing but Kate.

To see her was passion,
To love her, the fashion;
What wonder my heart was unwilling to wait!
And, daring to love her,
I soon did discover
A Katharine masking as mischievous Kate.

No Katy unruly,
But Katharine, truly --
Fond, serious, patient, and even sedate;
With a glow in her gladness
That banishes sadness --
Yet stay!  Should I credit the sunshine to Kate?

Love cannot outlive it,
Wealth cannot o'ergive it --
That saucy surrender she made at the gate.
O Time, be but human,
Spare the girl in the woman!
You gave me my Katharine -- leave me my Kate!