April 27, 2006

• Summer is here                       

  
  

  “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]

  
  

                       

  • 7:41 pm
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