Poems (Truesdell)/The Rustic Maiden to her Lover

by Helen Truesdell

THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HER LOVER.

"Our love it ne'er was reckoned,
 Yet good it is, and true;
I'ts half the world to me, dear,
 It's all the world to you."—Hood.

I have loved thee with a love
 That can know no change;
And with thee, through distant lands,
 Oft in fancy range.

I have pictured to myself
 A lone, but lovely spot,—
With honeysuckle twined around,
 A neat and simple cot.

Far away from noise and strife.
 Ambition, pomp, and pride,
Happily would our days pass on,
 Sweet the moments glide

I my household work would do,
 Watch thy home with care,
And make thine every sorrow light
 By sympathy and prayer.

And when at eve thy work was done,
 I'd sit and sing to thee
Songs of our own loved mountain home,
 Far o'er the deep blue sea.

Or else, perchance, I'd mind thee of
 The talks we'd had together,
And many little pleasant walks,
 In pleasant summer weather.

With friends who then were far away,
 That we had left behind,
But whose loved images still dwelt
 Imprinted on each mind.

Oh! who would ask a happier lot?
 I would not change it now
For all the bright and glittering gems
 That deck a monarch's brow.

For well the great Philosopher
 Of poets truly said,
A "golden sorrow" is their lot,
 Encircled round their head.

You think that I must weep, to leave
 The home I love so well;—
The deep devotion of her heart,
 A maiden may not tell.

Long as the object of her love
 Is worthy in her eyes,
She never dreams that she can make
 Too great a sacrifice.

And when unto the Western wilds
 I go, thy home to bless,
Thou then perhaps will learn the depth
 Of woman's tenderness.

But I have written quite enough,
 For thy fond eyes to see
The weakness of thine Amy's heart,—
 So now good night to thee!