Poems (Chitwood)/The Dowery
THE DOWERY.
Poor! darling, why I have a dowery No empress could buy;Though her gems were like the sands on the sea-shore, Or stars in the sky.
My heart thrills with rapture to name it, A rapture divine;Oh! it is not the price of a death-bed, This dowery of mine.
What is it? Well, love, sit beside me, Look on me and smile.What is it? Be patient, I'll tell thee; Yes, after a while.
It is not a gem from the ocean, Of delicate hue,Or diamond whose sparkle of brightness Out-shineth the dew,
Nor gold proven fine by the furnace, All yellow and bright;Nor silver like yonder lake gilded By moonbeams to-night;
Nor houses, nor wide-spreading acres; Nor ships on the sea; No, dearest, but I have a dowery More precious to me.
What is it? Be patient, I'll tell thee, Fair wife of my heart—Words sweeter than waters of Hybla, That softly upstart.
Here 'neath the dark wings of the shadow Of our cottage caves,I'll tell thee as I hear the waves ripple, And music of leaves,
I look with mine eyes over-brimming With glad tears above,Feeling thanks for this most precious dowery: It is thy true love!