Poems Chiefly Lyric and Elegiac :: :: University of Virginia Library

She laid her hard and rugged hand in mine,
Trembling, and most reluctant; for she thought
That the mere touch of such a hand as hers
Would shock me by its contrast to my own.

She little knew how much I reverenced her
Even for her hands: rude implements of toil,
Rude symbols of a station and a life
So far removed from mine: and yet, to me
They were more noble, more significant,
Than the smooth fingers and fastidious palms
Of those who live at ease. She was not made
For the fine uses of society:
Born in the country, in the country bred,
Inured to labours of the house and farm,

She had grown up, rough clad and plainly fed
But with substantial fare, to such a height
And strength of service, as became her birth
And suited all her powers; and those rough hands
And large laborious arms, bare all day long,
Proclaim'd her worth, and proved her character.

She was not spoilt, degraded, nor defiled,
By such a lot—the only lot in life
That she had ever known: Behold her face—
The simple beauty of her clear bright eyes,
The bloom of ruddy cheeks, the innocent mouth
Not form'd for talk, yet when it does discourse,
The rustic speech comes mellow'd by a voice
Sweet as the soft red lips that utter it
And smile with pleasure when I speak to her.

For now, she has a sweetheart like herself,
And he has woo'd and won her; and the hand
That never wore a glove, nor ever knew
The luxury of jewels, can display
His sacred pledge, a golden wedding ring;
Her first, her best, her only ornament.

Ah, future matron, parent of brave sons
And comely daughters! Shall we not confess
That thou, with healthful frame and helpful heart,

Art worthy as the best of us—and more,
Far more, of value to a nation's life
Than the slight folk of cities?

Be assured
That what a woman wants, is womanhood:
Strength of the body, vigour of the soul,
To be a wife and mother; for indeed
It is the mother that must make the man.