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 ARMS AROUND
ME—LAW!
I'd a bigger load o' Heaven than I had a load o' straw!
I don't p'tend to learnin', but I'll tell you what's a fac',
They's a mighty truthful sayin' somers in a' almanac—
Er SOMERS—'bout "puore happiness"—perhaps some folks'll laugh
At the idy—"only lastin' jest two seconds and a half."—
But it's jest as true as preachin'!—fer that was a SISTER'S
kiss,
And a sister's lovin' confidence a-tellin' to me this:—
"SHE was happy, BEIN' PROMISED TO THE SON O' FARMER BROWN."—
And my feelin's struck a pardnership with sunset and went down!
I don't know HOW I acted, and I don't know WHAT I said,—
Fer my heart seemed jest a-turnin' to an ice-cold lump o' lead;
And the hosses kind o'glimmered before me in the road,
And the lines fell from my fingers—And that was all I knowed—
Fer—well, I don't know HOW long—They's a dim rememberence
Of a sound o' snortin' horses, and a stake-and-ridered fence
A-whizzin' past, and wheat-sheaves a-dancin' in the air,
And Mary screamin' "Murder!" and a-runnin' up to where
I was layin' by the roadside, and the wagon upside down
A-leanin' on the gate-post, with the wheels a-whirlin' roun'!
And I tried to raise and meet her, but I couldn't, with a vague
Sort o' notion comin' to me that I had a broken leg.
Well, the women nussed me through it; but many a time I'd sigh
As I'd keep a-gittin' better instid o' goin' to die,
And wonder what was left ME worth livin' fer below,
When the girl I loved was married to another, don't you know!
And my thoughts was as rebellious as the folks was good and kind
When Brown and Mary married—Railly must 'a' been my MIND
Was kind o' out o' kilter!—fer I hated Brown, you see,
Worse'n PIZEN—and the feller whittled crutches out fer ME—
And done a thousand little ac's o' kindness and respec'—
And me a-wishin' all the time that I could break his neck!
My relief was like a mourner's when the funeral is done
When they moved to Illinois in the Fall o' Forty-one.