 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
MILKMAID'S MARRIAGE SONG.
Come up, my speckle-face!
Come, my fair speckle-face!
Come, for the morning is bright as can be;
Leave the grass, dewy wet—
Leave the dear violet—
Come, my good speckle, you 're going with me!
Come, my fair speckle-face!
Come, for the morning is bright as can be;
Leave the grass, dewy wet—
Leave the dear violet—
Come, my good speckle, you 're going with me!
Out of the woody land,
Up through the meadow land,
Down by the flax-field, and past the gay corn;
Come, ere the rising sun
Over yon cloud so dun
On the high eastern hill pushes his horn;
Up through the meadow land,
Down by the flax-field, and past the gay corn;
Come, ere the rising sun
Over yon cloud so dun
On the high eastern hill pushes his horn;
Past the green barley ridge,
Over the shallow bridge,
On through the clover as red as a rose;
We must be far away,
Ere the blue eye of day,
Opening in sunshine, in shadow shall close.
Over the shallow bridge,
On through the clover as red as a rose;
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Ere the blue eye of day,
Opening in sunshine, in shadow shall close.
Come, little speckle-face,
Come from your hiding-place;
You must be combed till your coat is like silk—
Oh, but you'd proudly come
If you could know for whom
You shall hereafter give pails full of milk!
Come from your hiding-place;
You must be combed till your coat is like silk—
Oh, but you'd proudly come
If you could know for whom
You shall hereafter give pails full of milk!
Softly as marriage bells,
Through the low dipping dells
Brings the sweet water that runs to the sea;
Lift, lift your eyes so brown—
How can you keep them down,
When, little speckle, you 're going with me?
Through the low dipping dells
Brings the sweet water that runs to the sea;
Lift, lift your eyes so brown—
How can you keep them down,
When, little speckle, you 're going with me?
Never the buttercups
Shone with such pearly drops,
Never the meadow-lark sung out so gay;
Come from your hiding-place,
Speckle-face, speckle-face,
I'm to be married—be married to-day!
Shone with such pearly drops,
Never the meadow-lark sung out so gay;
Come from your hiding-place,
Speckle-face, speckle-face,
I'm to be married—be married to-day!
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |