A Love Song

Dear Kate, I do not swear and rave,
Or sigh sweet things as many can;
But though my lip ne'er plays the slave
My heart will not disgrace the man .
I prize thee — ay, my bonnie Kate,
So firmly fond this breast can be,
That I would brook the sternest fate
If it but left me health and thee.

I do not promise that our life
Shall know no shade on heart or brow;
For human lot and mortal strife
Would mock the falsehood of such vow.
But when the clouds of pain and care
Shall teach us we are not divine,
My deepest sorrows thou shalt share,
And I will strive to lighten thine.

We love each other, yet perchance
The murmurs of dissent may rise;
Fierce words may chase the tender glance,
And angry flashes light our eyes.
But we must learn to check the frown,
To reason rather than to blame;
The wisest have their faults to own,
And you and I, girl, have the same.

You must not like me less, my Kate,
For such an honest strain as this;
I love thee dearly, but I hate.
The puling rhymes of " kiss " and " bliss "
There's truth in all I've said or sung;
I woo thee as a man should woo;
And though I lack a honeyed tongue,
Thou'lt never find a breast more true.
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