Nigh erbout ten year ago this Comin' May,— O I niver kin forgit the Blessed day,— Me 'n John wuz ridin' long, En—I wonder ef 'twas wrong— In er warm en narrer prisen My han' lay inside er hissen. The dog-wood platters shone ez White ez snow; The ole man's beard wuz wavin' To en fro. Me 'n John wuz mighty still Ez the grey mare clum the hill, En he whispered, edgin' nigher, "Won't you p'int the day, Maria?" The honey-suckle blushed er Rosy red; The trumpet-flower hearn the Words he said. Me 'n John wuz fur erway Frum the worl' that blessed day; Jess us two—en birds en flowers— While the minutes grew to hours. 'Taint no matter ef it is er Growin' late, When two happy hearts tergether Palpertate. Me 'n John was still ez mice, But we dwelt in paradise. Sperits lighter than er feather, Ez we jogged erlong tergether. Nigh erbout ten year ago this Comin' May,— I kin smell them flowers like it Wuz ter-day. Me 'n John hev joy en woe, Pain en pleasure ez we go; But life's trials we kin weather Whilst our hearts is boun' tergether. Granny's grave lies over yonder On the hill, En our cripple boy is nigh her, Col' en still. Me 'n John, when work is done, Kneels down thar at set er sun. Ez the breeze goes floatin' by us, Pears ter us like they is nigh us. But we couldn't 'spect ter live Withouten sorrer; We kin never count erpon er Comin' morrer. Me 'n John knowed it wuz best When them suff'rers went ter rest. God tuck back what he had given, Fur ter dwell with Him in heaven. Nigh erbout ten year ago this Comin' May,— Now er gang er chillen roun' us Romp en play. Me 'n John is happy still Ez when the grey mare clum the hill En he whispered, edgin' nigher "Won't you p'int the day, Maria?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EARLY MORN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE LAST SUPPER by RAINER MARIA RILKE THE GARDEN by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON IAMBICUM TRIMETRUM, FR. LETTER TO HARVEY by EDMUND SPENSER TO A MATTABASSETT (A CONNECTICUT INDIAN) by WALTER BARDECK THE UNSPOKEN by ANNE MILLAY BREMER TO BEN JONSON; UPON OCCASION OF HIS ODE OF DEFIANCE ... by THOMAS CAREW |