It will not be the wealth you bring her Will make her glad, but only this: A bit of happy song you sing her, A circling arm, a husband's kiss. It will not be the house, the raiment, That make her merry, fill her life: These never were sufficient payment For a wife. But if the old love never falters And never wearies, never fails, However much your fortune alters She has her singing nightingales. Blue skies she has behind the thunder And peace is hers amid the strife -- That is the glory and the wonder Of a wife. Work well, and may it bring her riches, But not neglect to make her doubt; For she would rather walk the ditches With love, than avenues without. For, what the fortune, what the weather, Love, after all, is all of life -- The only bond to hold together Man and wife. |