What song of mine will live?
On whose lips will the words be sung
Long years after I am forgotten —
A name blown between the hills
Where some goat-herd
Remembers my love and passion?

He will sing of your beauty and my love;
Though it may be in another tongue,
To a strange tune,
In a country beyond the seas —
A seed blown by the wind —
He will sing of our love and passion.

To some the fat gods
Give money,
To some love;

But the gods have given me
Money and love:

Not too much money,
Nor quite enough love!

To some the fat gods
Give money, To some love.

Armed with a hyacinthine wand
Love touched me with his little hand—
A most imperious command.

He gave me a swift race to run
With him—by torrents on and on,
By moor and meadow, wood and lawn

Our flight we urged; to him I clung—
When me a water-serpent stung,
Whereat my heart paused, failed my tongue.

He with his wings soft as a dove
Fanned me, and cried, “Does this not prove
How vain it is to strive with Love?”

You seemed a caryatid melting
Into the wind-blown, dark blue temple of the sky.
But you bent down as I came closer, breaking the image.
When I passed, you raised your head
And blew the little feather of a smile upon me.
I caught it on open lips and blew it back.
And in that moment we loved,
Although you stood still waiting for your lover,
And I walked on to my love.

You seemed a caryatid melting
Into the wind-blown, dark blue temple of the sky.
But you bent down as I came closer, breaking the image.
When I passed, you raised your head

Be patient, Life, when Love is at the gate,
And when he enters let him be at home.
Think of the roads that he has had to roam.
Think of the years that he has had to wait.

But if I let Love in I shall be late.
Another has come first — there is no room.
And I am thoughtful of the endless loom —
Let Love be patient, the importunate.

O Life, be idle and let Love come in,
And give thy dreamy hair that Love may spin.

But Love himself is idle with his song.
Let Love come last, and then may Love last long.

My own dear love I write to you,
Religion's scarce and preachers few;
I trust in God and daily pray
In the lonely mountains far away.

When I was on the ice and snow,
It hailed and rained, the wind did blow;
You gave to me a parting hand,
" And you wished me safe in the Cumberland. "

Unto this work I give my life,
But it is no place to bring a wife;
The promise that you gave to me,
I will give it back and set you free.

In winter time the wolves will howl
Around my door the Red Men prowl;
But for myself I have no fear,

The blossomed bean I love to see
It breathes in fragrance all of thee
The wilding rose I so admire
It bluims thy blush upon the briar

I love the hedge row walk at e'en
The scented bluim of bean & pea
They o'er the seeded grasses lean
And breathe of only love and thee

The woodbines bluim at mornings hour
I love to see its ruddy streak
For theres a hue upon the flower
That bluims upon thy bonny cheek

In summer time I think o' thee
A thousand times in sunny hours
I know where thy hearts home would be

With coal black hair and rose red face
And skin as white as milk
My sweetheart keeps a servants place
And wears a gown o' silk
I've loved the bonny maid for years
And love her person still
Birds sing my fondness in her ears
Of me she thinks no ill

Her beauty blossoms like summers hour
Her face resembles springs fair flower
Her face is fair her hair is black
I love the gown upon her back
My heart in melody does ring
Her praises I will ever sing
Her smile is dearer than the flower
That bloometh in its transient hour

My loving dear is very fair
As she walks at morning early
When bean blooms scent the morning air
She walks across the barley
The misty dew spread oer the glade
In sunshine glittered gailey
As forth afield mid sun & shade
I went with Betsey Bailey

Her gown was pink her stocking white
Her face was plump and roundy
To look within her eye so bright
Would utterly confound ye
They'd make you shrink beneath their light
Till words were spoke to quail ye
And then you'd sigh from morn till night
For handsome Betsey Bailey

One Night plump Sue and Coachman Ned
A Bargain struck in haste to wed;
A Crown was stak'd, the Pair consented
To lose their Pledge, who first repented.
Time, for the Matrimonial Farce,
To-morrow, comes — — Ned hangs an A — se.
Of bad the best poor Suky makes,
And angry claims his forfeit Stakes.
Ned frankly paid it as agreed,
Of a worse Bargain to be freed;
Quoth he — Thou'rt welcome on my Life ,
A cheap Divorcement from a Wife!
— The crafty Quean, who feign'd a while,
Soon answer'd with a jeering Smile,