There was once a little man, and his rod and line he took,
    For he said, "I'll go a-fishing in the neighboring brook."
    And it chanced a little maiden was walking out that day,
                        And they met, in the usual way.

    Then he sat him down beside her, and an hour or two went by,
    But still upon the grassy brink his rod and line did lie;
    "I thought," she shyly whispered, "you'd be fishing all the day!"
                        And he was, in the usual way.

    So he gravely took his rod in hand, and threw the line about,
    But the fish perceived distinctly that he was not looking out;
    And he said, "Sweetheart, I love you!" but she said she could not stay:
                        But she did, in the usual way.

    Then the stars came out above them, and she gave a little sigh,
    As they watched the silver ripples, like the moments, running by;
    "We must say good-by," she whispered, by the alders old and gray,
                        And they did, in the usual way.

    And day by day beside the stream they wandered to and fro,
    And day by day the fishes swam securely down below;
    Till this little story ended, as such little stories may,
                        Very much--in the usual way.

    And now that they are married, do they always bill and coo?
    Do they never fret and quarrel as other couples do?
    Does he cherish her and love her? Does she honor and obey?
                        Well, they do, in the usual way.

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