The Wooing by David McKee Wright

'Twas the Spring in the air
  And a laughter that ran
Over Moina's black hair
   To the heart of a man;
With the thorn-bush in leaf
   And the wet clover green --
Och, April, you thief,
  Is it love that you mean?

'Twas her mother's white goat
   On the side of the hill
And the rain on my coat
   With the sun laughing still,
And the thought of her eyes --
   Sure, my heart is a gift,
In the black of surprise,
   When her eyelashes lift!

'Twas the word that I spoke
   With the wind blowing clear
And the small sob that broke
   In my throat full of fear.
"Och, Danny," she said,
   "There's the white cream to set
And the pigs to be fed
   And you're plaguing me yet?"

Would she slide past the door?
   Och, her tongue was too wise;
But I listened far more
   To the look in her eyes --
"Sure, stay and be kist."
   But she turned by the wall
With a fine-lady twist
   Of her head and her shawl.

'Twas the Spring in the air
   And the green of the world,
And the black of her hair
   Set me mad where it curled.
"Och, Moina, come out,
   Girl of dreams, and be kist" --
But she hit me a clout
   with the white of her fist.

Would she slide past the door?
   Sure, her mouth was too red.
With the cheek of me sore
   And those eyes in her head.
Troth, I kist her too well --
   Twenty times at the least.
"Now, Danny, we'll tell
   A small word to the priest."

First published in The Bulletin, 30 August 1917 and again in the same magazine on 30 October 1929;
and later in
From the Ballads to Brennan edited by T. Inglis Moore, 1964.

Author reference sites: Austlit, Australian Dictionary of Biography

See also.