Maurine by Ella Wheeler Wilcox — Read

I sat and sewed, and sang some tender tune, / Oh, beauteous was that morn in early June! / Mellow with sunlight, and with blossoms fair: / The climbing rose-tree grew about me there, / And checked with shade the sunny portico / Where, morns like this, I came to read, or sew.

I heard the gate click, and a firm, quick tread / Upon the walk. No need to turn my head; / I would mistake, and doubt my own voice sounding, / Before his step upon the gravel bounding.