When I behold how some pursue Fame, that is care's embodiment, Or fortune, whose false face looks true,-- A humble home with sweet content Is all I ask for me and you.
A humble home, where pigeons coo, Whose path leads under breezy lines Of frosty-berried cedars to A gate, one mass of trumpet-vines, Is all I ask for me and you.
A garden, which, all summer through, The roses old make redolent, And morning-glories, gay of hue, And tansy, with its homely scent, Is all I ask for me and you.
An orchard, that the pippins strew, From whose bruised gold the juices spring; A vineyard, where the grapes hang blue, Wine-big and ripe for vintaging, Is all I ask for me and you.
A lane, that leads to some far view Of forest and of fallow-land, Bloomed o'er with rose and meadow-rue, Each with a bee in its hot hand, Is all I ask for me and you.
At morn, a pathway deep with dew, And birds to vary time and tune; At eve, a sunset avenue, And whippoorwills that haunt the moon, Is all I ask for me and you.
Dear heart, with wants so small and few, And faith, that's better far than gold, A lowly friend, a child or two, To care for us when we are old, Is all I ask for me and you.
My love went berrying Where brooks were merrying And wild wings ferrying Heaven's amethyst; The wildflowers blessed her, My dearest Hester, The winds caressed her, The sunbeams kissed.
I followed, carrying Her basket; varying Fond hopes of marrying With hopes denied; Both late and early She deemed me surly, And bowed her curly Fair head and sighed:
"The skies look lowery; It will he showery; No longer flowery The way I find. No use in going. 'T will soon be snowing If you keep growing Much more unkind."
Then looked up tearfully. And I, all fearfully, Replied, "My dear, fully Will I explain: I love you dearly, But look not cheerly Since all says clearly I love in vain."
Then smiled she airily; And answered merrily With words that--verily Made me decide: And drawing tow'rd her, I there implored her-- I who adored her-- To be my bride.
O sweet simplicity Of young rusticity, Without duplicity, Whom love made know, That hearts in meter Make earth completer; And kisses, sweeter Than--berries grow.
O pansy-violet, With early April wet, How frail and pure you look Lost in this glow-worm nook Of heaven-holding hills: Down which the hurrying rills Fling scrolls of melodies: O'er which the birds and bees Weave gossamers of song, Invisible, but strong: Sweet music webs they spin To snare the spirit in.