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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 280 pages of information about Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume II..

Then I busked mysel’ wi’ speed,
And the neighbors cried “What need? 
’Tis a lass in any weed
          Aye bonny!”

Now my heart, my heart is sair. 
What’s the good, though I be fair,
For thou’lt never see me mair,
          Man Johnnie!


It’s we two, it’s we two, it’s we two for aye,
All the world and we two, and Heaven be our stay. 
Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! 
All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side.

What’s the world, my lass, my love!—­what can it do? 
I am thine, and thou art mine; life is sweet and new. 
If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by,
For we two have gotten leave, and once more we’ll try.

Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! 
It’s we two, it’s we two, happy side by side. 
Take a kiss from me thy man; now the song begins: 
“All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins.”

When the darker days come, and no sun will shine,
Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I’ll dry thine. 
It’s we two, it’s we two, while the world’s away,
Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding-day.


Little babe, while burns the west,
Warm thee, warm thee in my breast;
While the moon doth shine her best,
  And the dews distil not.

All the land so sad, so fair—­
Sweet its toils are, blest its care. 
Child, we may not enter there! 
  Some there are that will not.

Fain would I thy margins know,
Land of work, and land of snow;
Land of life, whose rivers flow
  On, and on, and stay not.

Fain would I thy small limbs fold,
While the weary hours are told,
Little babe in cradle cold. 
  Some there are that may not.


One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,
All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease;
’Twas a thrush sang in my garden, “Hear the story, hear the story!”
        And the lark sang, “Give us glory!”
        And the dove said, “Give us peace!”

Then I listened, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved,
To that murmur from the woodland of the dove, my dear, the dove;
When the nightingale came after, “Give us fame to sweeten duty!”
        When the wren sang, “Give us beauty!”
        She made answer, “Give us love!”

Sweet is spring, and sweet the morning, my beloved, my beloved;
Now for us doth spring, doth morning, wait upon the year’s increase,
And my prayer goes up, “Oh, give us, crowned in youth with marriage glory,
        Give for all our life’s dear story,
        Give us love, and give us peace!”


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