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Sweet Kitty Clyde

From The Commoner, December 1, 1914. By L. V. H. Crosby.

Oh! who has not seen Kitty Clyde?
    She lives at the foot of the hill
        In a sly little nook
        By the babbling brook,
    That carries her father’s old mill.
Oh! who does not love Kitty Clyde?
    That sunny-eyed rosy-cheeked lass
        With a sweet dimpled chin
        That looks roguish as sin,
    With always a smile as you pass.

With a basket to put in her fish,
    Every morning with line and a hook
        This sweet little lass,
        Through the tall heavy grass,
    Steals along by the clear running brook.
    She throws her line into the stream,
And trips it along the brook side,
    Oh! how I do wish that I were a fish,
To be caught by sweet Kitty Clyde.

How I wish that I were a bee.
I’d not gather honey from flowers,
    But would steal a dear sip
    From Kitty’s sweet lip,
And make my own hive in her bowers.
Or if I were some little bird
    I would not build nests in the air;
But keep close by the side of sweet Kitty Clyde
    And sleep in her soft silken hair.

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