Relicta :: :: University of Virginia Library

You see my wife: outside our Cottage there,
In the trim garden that she keeps so fair,
Herself an autumn flower, so she stands,
Expectant: and her strong and shapely hands
For once are empty, as she waits for me,
To give me kisses, and to give me tea.
Look at her lilac bonnet, lightly laid
Across her brows; a shelter and a shade
For those clear eyes, in which I always find
The same sweet solace, and the same pure mind:
Look—for that bonnet is a constant sign
That she is of a world that is not mine,
Though she is mine for ever. Labourers' wives,
None else, can use such bonnets all their lives,
As she does hers, in public and at home,
Unblamed, unnoticed; and they well become
The fairest face; for they are picturesque
In shape and colour. Women of the desk
Or of the counter, would disdain to wear
This simple rustic antiquated gear:
It would degrade them, and they like it not;
But she, who dearly loves her own poor lot—
Its work, its ways, its rural speech, its free
Unfetter'd leave to labour, and to be
Just what she will—she likes it all the more
Because it shows her as she was of yore;

A peasant woman, made to be for life
Her husband's servant, as a working wife.

That was her thought, her fix'd resolve long since,
Or e'er she saw the fated fairy prince
Who show'd his features to her in the fire:
She knew that he would come, and would inspire
Her heart with passion prompted from above.
And when he came, she knew that he would love.
Well, he did come; he felt the spacious charm
Of her fine presence, and he meant no harm:
He knew not that he was the very man
Whom she had seen, when first her love began,
Yet he straight loved her; and his love was pure—
As pure as hers, as certain to endure.
But, when at last she was his wife, and he
Ready to raise her to his own degree,
She utterly refused it. “No,” she said,
“I was not meant for that: I was not bred
To be your equal; and I still intend
To keep my place of service to the end;
For” (and her red lip quiver'd as it curl'd)
“I would not be a lady, for the world!”

Then, he insisted; and, to please his whim
Drest like a lady, she went forth with him
To see a life that she had never shared,
Had never seen, nor ever once had cared
To hear of at a distance; and her face,
Her calm untaught simplicity and grace,
Her quiet manner, born of character
And not of station, so ennobled her
That none suspected what she really was—
A country servant, and a village lass.

But all the while, her honest clear good sense
Hated the falsehood of a mere pretence
Which never could be real; for she knew
That to her own class she would still be true,
And not to his, although she loved him so.
“Dear heart!” she cried, “what foolery, to go
Traipsing like this, and see them servants still
Fussing about, to make a bigger bill:
Doing my work, as I was born to do,
Aye, and can do it better far, for you!
They winna let me even sew and hem—
And me a servant, just like one o' them!”

But hold—she sees us; we must go to her.
Be not surprised; for she will call you Sir,
And curtsy, as she does to every one
Who comes with me, as you, my friend, have done,
To see her in the quiet of her home.
She wants no visitors; but if they come,
She honours them, knowing they will not mock
At the plain fashion of her cotton frock,
Her harden apron, or her bare red arms—
All these are native and familiar charms,
Dear to her husband: and full well she knows
That he is with her as she comes and goes
Thus in her working dress; he feels no shame
In having such a wife to bear his name:
Rather, he feels an honourable pride
With this devoted woman at his side
Who owns his heart and his companionship.
Love is the bond that binds them, lip to lip
And soul to soul, together and alone:
“For it's the difference that makes us one,”

She told him once, and he has found it so.
What need of more? Her humble neighbours know
She is his wife indeed; a labourer's wife,
And he no labourer, but content through life
To dwell with her, and be obscurely blest
In the seclusion of this lowly nest;
Where neither he nor she need know or care
Who else is faithful, or who else is fair.