My little wife is out beyond the burn,
I see her parasol behind the fir,
And here am I inditing verse to her
Ere she return.
That pretty bird is happy there conceal'd,
This fragrant chamber smiles a peaceful smile, —
What joy to sing the joys of home — the while
My joy's afield!
My spouse is mild — she's meek as any nun,
And yet her spiritual calm is such …
Somehow one's always feeling she is much
Too good for one.
She thinks I'm wise and handsome — 'tis her creed.
I wonder am I either! On my word
Sometimes I've wonder'd "an my bonnie bird"
Think so indeed:
Perhaps! for she my homage ne'er repels;
Perhaps I might have loved her half a life,
Perhaps — had she but been the little wife
Of some one else.
But why should I complain of cross or cares?
While entertaining her (who won't complain)
It may be I an angel entertain
— And unawares.