Classic Poem

Wife. While other women's husbands ride
Along the road in proud array,
My husband up the rough hillside
On foot must wend his weary way.

The grievous sight with bitter pain
My bosom fills, and many a tear
Steals down my cheek, and I would fain
Do ought to help my husband dear.

Come! take the mirror and the veil,
My mother's parting gifts to me;
In barter they must sure avail
To buy an horse to carry thee!

Husband. An I should purchase me an horse,
Must not my wife still sadly walk?
No, no! though stony is our course,
We'll trudge along and sweetly talk.