Poems (Cook)/A Love-Song
For works with similar titles, see A Love-Song.
A LOVE-SONG.
Dear Kate—I do not swear and rave Or sigh sweet things as many can;But though my lip ne'er plays the slave, My heart will not disgrace the man.I prize thee—aye, my bonnie Kate, So firmly fond this breast can be;That I would brook the sternest fate If it but left me health and thee.
I do not promise that our life Shall know no shade on heart or brow;For human lot and mortal strife Would mock the falsehood of such vow.But when the clouds of pain and care Shall teach us we are not divine;My deepest sorrows thou shalt share, And I will strive to lighten thine.
We love each other, yet perchance The murmurs of dissent may rise;Fierce words may chase the tender glance, And angry flashes light our eyes:But we must learn to check the frown, To reason rather than to blame;The wisest have their faults to own, And you and I, girl, have the same.
You must not like me less, my Kate, For such an honest strain as this;I love thee dearly, but I hate The puling rhymes of "kiss" and "bliss."There's truth in all I've said or sung; I woo thee as a man should woo;And though I lack a honey'd tongue, Thou'lt never find a breast more true.