Jean Ingelow [1820-1897]

MY OWEN

Proud of you, fond of you, clinging so near to you, Light is my heart now I know I am dear to you!

Glad is my voice now, so free it may sing for you All the wild love that is burning within for you!

Tell me once more, tell it over and over, The tale of that eve which first saw you my lover.

Now I need never blush At my heart's hottest gush-- The wife of my Owen her heart may discover!

Proud of you, fond of you, having all right in you, Quitting all else through my love and delight in you!

Glad is my heart since 'tis beating so nigh to you!

Light is my step for it always may fly to you!

Clasped in your arms where no sorrow can reach to me, Reading your eyes till new love they shall teach to me.

Though wild and weak till now, By that blest marriage vow, More than the wisest know your heart shall preach to me.

Ellen Mary Patrick Downing [1828-1869]

DORIS: A PASTORAL

I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden; Her crook was laden with wreathed flowers.

I sat and wooed her through sunlight wheeling, And shadows stealing for hours and hours.

And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses Wild summer roses of faint perfume, The while I sued her, kept hushed and harkened Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom.

She touched my shoulder with fearful finger; She said, "We linger, we must not stay; My flock's in danger, my sheep will wander; Behold them yonder, how far they stray!"

I answered bolder, "Nay, let me hear you, And still be near you, and still adore!

No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling-- Ah! stay my darling a moment more!"

She whispered, sighing, "There will be sorrow Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day; My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded-- I shall be scolded and sent away!"

Said I, denying, "If they do miss you, They ought to kiss you when you get home; And well rewarded by friend and neighbor Should be the labor from which you come."

"They might remember," she answered meekly.

"That lambs are weakly and sheep are wild; But if they love me it's none so fervent-- I am a servant and not a child."

Then each hot ember glowed quick within me, And love did win me to swift reply: "Ah! do but prove me, and none shall bind you, Nor fray nor find you until I die!"

She blushed and started, and stood awaiting, As if debating in dreams divine; But I did brave them--I told her plainly, She doubted vainly, she must be mine.

So we, twin-hearted, from all the valley Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes; And homeward drove them, we two together, Through blooming heather and gleaming dews.

That simple duty such grace did lend her, My Doris tender, my Doris true, That I her warder did always bless her, And often press her to take her due.

And now in beauty she fills my dwelling With love excelling, and undefiled; And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent, No more a servant, nor yet a child.

Arthur Joseph Munby [1828-1910]

"HE'D NOTHING BUT HIS VIOLIN"

He'd nothing but his violin, I'd nothing but my song, But we were wed when skies were blue And summer days were long; And when we rested by the hedge, The robins came and told How they had dared to woo and win, When early Spring was cold.

We sometimes supped on dew-berries, Or slept among the hay, But oft the farmers' wives at eve Came out to hear us play; The rare old songs, the dear old tunes,-- We could not starve for long While my man had his violin, And I my sweet love-song.

The world has aye gone well with us Old man since we were one,-- Our homeless wandering down the lanes It long ago was done.

But those who wait for gold or gear, For houses or for kine, Till youth's sweet spring grows brown and sere, And love and beauty tine, Will never know the joy of hearts That met without a fear, When you had but your violin And I a song, my dear.

Mary Kyle Dallas [1830-1897]

LOVE'S CALENDAR

That gusty spring, each afternoon By the ivied cot I pa.s.sed, And noted at that lattice soon Her fair face downward cast; Still in the same place seated there, So diligent, so very fair.

Oft-times I said I knew her not, Yet that way round would go, Until, when evenings lengthened out, And bloomed the may-hedge row, I met her by the wayside well, Whose waters, maybe, broke the spell.

For, leaning on her pail, she prayed, I'd lift it to her head.

So did I; but I'm much afraid Some wasteful drops were shed, And that we blushed, as face to face Needs must we stand the shortest s.p.a.ce.

Then when the sunset mellowed through The ears of rustling grain, When lattices wide open flew, When ash-leaves fell like rain, As well as I she knew the hour At morn or eve I neared her bower.

And now that snow o'erlays the thatch, Each starlit eve within The door she waits, I raise the latch, And kiss her lifted chin; Nor do I think we've blushed again, For Love hath made but one of twain.

William Bell Scott [1811-1890]

HOME

Two birds within one nest; Two hearts within one breast; Two spirits in one fair, Firm league of love and prayer, Together bound for aye, together blest.

An ear that waits to catch A hand upon the latch; A step that hastens its sweet rest to win; A world of care without, A world of strife shut out, A world of love shut in.

Dora Greenwell [1821-1882]