285

"She sat beneath the broad-armed elms
That skirt the mowing-meadow,
And watched the gentle west-wind weave

The grass with shine and shadow.

"Beside her, from the summer heat
To share her grateful screening,

With forehead bared, the farmer stood,
Upon his pitchfork leaning.

"Framed in its damp, dark locks, his face

290 Had nothing mean or common, Strong, manly, true, the tenderness And pride beloved of woman.

"She looked up, glowing with the health The country air had brought her, 295 And, laughing, said: 'You lack a wife, Your mother lacks a daughter.

300

"To mend your frock and bake your bread

You do not need a lady:

Be sure among these brown old homes

Is some one waiting ready,

"Some fair, sweet girl with skilful hand
And cheerful heart for treasure,
Who never played with ivory keys,
Or danced the polka's measure.'

305 "He bent his black brows to a frown,
He set his white teeth tightly.

'Tis well,' he said, 'for one like you
To choose for me so lightly.