Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/To my ain auld Wife

To My Ain Auld Wife.

My ain auld wife, oh! hoo it cheers My heart tae see ye thereBittin', my ae best frien' on earth, Within the auld arm-chair.I look intil yer weel-kent face, I read yer patient smile,An' years o' life's way-wanderings Seem dwindled til a mile.

They say your locks are grey, dear wife; An' dim yer ance bricht e'e;It may be sae tae ithers' e'en, But never sae tae me.Then dinna think, my ain auld wife, O' thee I'm grown less fain;Nae wrinkle on thy cheek but I Could kiss, an' kiss again.

When forty lang, lang years sin syne I took thee by the han',I then ca'd you my dear guidwife, An' ye ca'd me guidman.Oor love intil oor ain heart's bank We put it safe to keep,An' noo, at compound interest, It's grown a miser's heap.

The blossoms o' our youth's love tree, Whilk Heav'n ga'e to us twa,There's some lie here, there's some lie there, But a' hae gane awa'Tae their blessed land o' peacefu' rest, Bricht wi' eternal beams,Beckoning us tae follow them— I see them in my dreams.

It canna noo be lang, auld wife, Till we maun slip awa';We are but feckless servants here, And wait the Master's ca'.Like leaves upo' the self-same tree, We've shared alike life's weather,Through ilka range an' season's change, And noo we'll drap thegither!