Oh, it’s blessed indeed is the bride, my girl,
When she kneels by a gray old mother.”
HONEYMOONING FROM THE COUNTRY
To the rooms where I am dining in the glaring city’s day
Come the happy honeymooners from the country far away,
Two days old, and very awkward as they wander straight ahead,
Much too careful lest the people should suspect them country-bred.
He’s a well set-up young fellow; she’s a dainty little bride;
And he follows where she leads him with the bush swing in his stride,
Makes himself at home—or tries to—with defiance in his stare,