Green Fields and Running Brooks, and Other Poems by James Whitcomb Riley
page 52 of 174 (29%)
page 52 of 174 (29%)
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The sweetest little thing she was, with rosy cheeks, and fat-- We was little chunks o' shavers then about as high as that! But someway we sort o' _suited_-like! and Mother she'd declare She never laid her eyes on a more lovin' pair Than _we_ was! So we growed up side by side fer thirteen year', And every hour of it she growed to me more dear!-- W'y, even Father's dyin', as he did, I do believe Warn't more affectin' to me than it was to see her grieve! I was then a lad o' twenty; and I felt a flash o' pride In thinkin' all depended on _me_ now to pervide Fer Mother and fer Mary; and I went about the place With sleeves rolled up--and workin', with a mighty smilin' face.-- Fer _sompin' else_ was workin'! but not a word I said Of a certain sort o' notion that was runnin' through my head,-- "Someday I'd mayby marry, and _a brother's_ love was one Thing--a _lover's_ was another!" was the way the notion run! I remember onc't in harvest, when the "cradle-in'" was done-- When the harvest of my summers mounted up to twenty-one-- I was ridin' home with Mary at the closin' o' the day-- A-chawin' straws and thinkin', in a lover's lazy way! And Mary's cheeks was burnin' like the sunset down the lane: I noticed she was thinkin', too, and ast her to explain Well--when she turned and _kissed_ me, _with her arm around me--law_! I'd a bigger load o' heaven than I had a load o' straw! |
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