The Farmer's Bride

Three summer's since I chose a maid,

Too young may be - but more's to do

At harvest time than bide and woo.

When us was wed she turned afraid

Of love and me and all things human;

Like the shut of a winter's day.

Her smile went out, and 'twasn't a woman-

More like a little frightened fay.

One night, in the fall, she runned away.

"Out 'mong the sheep, her be," they said,

Should properly have been abed;

But sure enough she wasn't there

Lying awake with her wide brown stare.

So over seven-acre field and up-along across the down

We chased her, flying like a hare

Before our lanterns. To Church-town

All in a shiver and a scare

We caught her, fetched her home at last

And turned the key upon her fast.