Part 2 — "HE'D NOTHING BUT HIS VIOLIN"
Reading edition
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]