| Poems by Women |
"HE'D NOTHING BUT HIS VIOLIN"
He'd nothing but his violin,
I'd nothing but my song,
But we were wed
when skies were blue
And summer days were long;
And when we rested by the
hedge,
The robins came and told
How they had dared to woo and win,
When
early Spring was cold.
We sometimes supped on dew-berries,
Or slept among the hay,
But oft the
farmers' wives at eve
Came out to hear us play;
The rare old songs, the
dear old tunes, -
We could not starve for long
While my man had his
violin,
And I my sweet love-song.
The world has aye gone well with us
Old man since we were one, -
Our
homeless wandering down the lanes
It long ago was done.
But those who wait
for gold or gear,
For houses or for kine,
Till youth's sweet spring grows
brown and sere,
And love and beauty tine,
Will never know the joy of
hearts
That met without a fear,
When you had but your violin
And I a
song, my dear.
Mary Kyle Dallas [1830-1897]
From: Stevenson, Burton Egbert.
The Home Book of Verse.
This poet:
[Author index]
This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.
Citing poems from these pages:
| Author. "Poem Title." Women's History: Poems by Women. Jone Johnson Lewis, editor. URL: (date of logon) |
