Poem by Charles Swain

* * *

'Twas just before the hay was mown, 
  The season had been wet and cold, 
When my good dame began to groan, 
  And speak of days and years of old: 
Ye were a young man then, and gay,
  And raven black your handsome hair; 
Ah! Time steals many a grace away, 
  And leaves us many a grief to bear. 
 
Tush! tush! said I, we've had our time, 
  And if 'twere here again 'twould go;
The youngest cannot keep their prime, 
  The darkest head some gray must show. 
We've been together forty years, 
  And though it seem but like a day, 
We've much less cause, dear dame, for tears,
  Than many who have trod life's way. 
 
Goodman, said she, ye're always right, 
  And 'tis a pride to hear your tongue; 
And though your fine old head be white, 
  'Tis dear to me as when 'twere young.
So give your hand,--'twas never shown 
  But in affection unto me; 
And I shall be beneath the stone, 
  And lifeless, when I love not thee.

1. Tripping down the Field-Path
2. A Violet in Her Hair
3. Love? I Will Tell Thee What It Is to Love!
4. Take the World As It Is!
5. The Rose Thou Gav'st

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