I HAVE stumbled in the stubble,
I have lingered in the lane,
I have taken every trouble
Just to hear your voice again,
For I want to see you closer,
Though I'm sure that you are plain!

Now I know just how a lover
Feels about a “hot pursuit.”
It was broiling in the clover,
And I could have been a brute
If I only might have found you,
But you suddenly were mute!

After singing all the morning—
Sometimes late into the night—
When I follow—without warning
Then you take to shameless flight,
For I never, never find you,
Most elusive Robert White!

You're delusive, Mr. Bobby—
That is why I like you so.
You're intrusive, that's your hobby,
Or at least you strike me so—
You're exclusive and so snobby,
All your traits are poor, I know.

Yet I stumble in the stubble,
And I linger in the lane.
Pray, why do I take such trouble
When I hear your note again?
For I know that if I found you
I should think you very plain!