The Home Book of Verse
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Chapter 266 : TWO LOVERS Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: They leaned soft cheeks together there,
TWO LOVERS
Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: They leaned soft cheeks together there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard the wooing thrashes sing.
O budding time!
O love's blest prime!
Two wedded from the portal stept: The bells made happy carolings, The air was soft as fanning wings, White petals on the pathway slept.
O pure-eyed bride!
O tender pride!
Two faces o'er a cradle bent: Two hands above the head were locked: These pressed each other while they rocked, Those watched a life that love had sent.
O solemn hour!
O hidden power!
Two parents by the evening fire: The red light fell about their knees On heads that rose by slow degrees Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!
O tender strife!
The two still sat together there, The red light shone about their knees; But all the heads by slow degrees Had gone and left that lonely pair.
O voyage fast!
O vanished past!
The red light shone upon the floor And made the s.p.a.ce between them wide; They drew their chairs up side by side, Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!"
O memories!
O past that is!
George Eliot [1819-1880]
THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE
"Somewhere," he mused, "its dear enchantments wait, That land, so heavenly sweet; Yet all the paths we follow, soon or late, End in the desert's heat.
"And still it lures us to the eager quest, And calls us day by day"-- "But I," she said, her babe upon her breast "But I have found the way."
"Some time," he sighed, "when youth and joy are spent, Our feet the gates may win"-- "But I," she smiled, with eyes of deep content, "But I have entered in."
Emily Huntington Miller [1833-1913]
MY AIN WIFE
I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see; A bonnier yet I've never seen, A better canna be-- I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see!
O couthie is my ingle-cheek, An' cheerie is my Jean; I never see her angry look, Nor hear her word on ane.
She's gude wi' a' the neebors roun'
An' aye gude wi' me-- I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
An' O her looks sae kindlie, They melt my heart outright, When o'er the baby at her breast She hangs wi' fond delight; She looks intill its bonnie face, An' syne looks to me-- I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.
Alexander Laing [1787-1857]
THE IRISH WIFE
I would not give my Irish wife For all the dames of the Saxon land; I would not give my Irish wife For the Queen of France's hand; For she to me is dearer Than castles strong, or lands, or life.
An outlaw--so I'm near her To love till death my Irish wife.
O what would be this home of mine, A ruined, hermit-haunted place, But for the light that nightly s.h.i.+nes Upon its walls from Kathleen's face!
What comfort in a mine of gold, What pleasure in a royal life, If the heart within lay dead and cold, If I could not wed my Irish wife?
I knew the law forbade the banns; I knew my king abhorred her race; Who never bent before their clans Must bow before their ladies' grace.
Take all my forfeited domain, I cannot wage with kinsmen strife: Take knightly gear and n.o.ble name, And I will keep my Irish wife.
My Irish wife has clear blue eyes, My heaven by day, my stars by night; And twin-like truth and fondness lies Within her swelling bosom white.
My Irish wife has golden hair, Apollo's harp had once such strings, Apollo's self might pause to hear Her bird-like carol when she sings.
I would not give my Irish wife For all the dames of the Saxon land; I would not give my Irish wife For the Queen of France's hand; For she to me is dearer Than castles strong, or lands, or life: In death I would be near her, And rise beside my Irish wife.
Thomas D'Arcy McGee [1825-1868]
MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING
See is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine.
I never saw a fairer, I never lo'ed a dearer, And niest my heart I'll wear her, For fear my jewel tine.
She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine.
The warld's wrack we share o't, The warsle and the care o't: Wi' her I'll blithely bear it, And think my lot divine.
Robert Burns [1759-1796]
LETTICE
I said to Lettice, our sister Lettice, While drooped and glistened her eyelash brown, "Your man's a poor man, a cold and dour man, There's many a better about our town."
She smiled securely--"He loves me purely: A true heart's safe, both in smile or frown; And nothing harms me while his love warms me, Whether the world go up or down."
