Homeward we went in soberer mood;
Haply the weight we had to carry,
By stile and gate oft made us tarry
To change our hands, and ease the weight
By making both co-operate. 
At length we knew the hour grew late,
Because we saw our shadows rise,
Mocking our motions, thrice our size;
And keeping faithful phantom pace,
Tempting us to an elfin race
For fairy treasure; all in play! 
For which, whatever they might say,
We knew our lives would have to pay! 
   Both breaking into prattle showed
How pleased we trod the dusty road
Once more; and rested where the rill
Sings issuing, halfway up the hill;
Where maids and wives their pitchers bring
To fill, and gossip at the spring. 
   To gossip ourselves we durst not stop,
As we had yet to reach the top
Where, starting from before the moon,
Our church spire quickened, rose, and danced
Higher and higher as we advanced,
And on a sudden ceased, as soon
As we were on the level; then,
There your mother stood at the gate
Impatient we were out so late;
Inquiring how, and why, and when;
She thought we had been drowned, and lost,
And by some savage mad bull tossed;
So long had she been looking out! 
Whatever had we been about? 
   Altho’ we saw so much that day,
But little then had we to say,
And told her a bewildered tale
Of garment torn by splintered rail;
Of spiders, blackbirds, butterflies;
Of rooks so near that looked so wise! 
Of ghostly shadows, some of the way,
That had been tempting us to play,
Tho’ sure they must have known we should
Be making all the haste we could! 
The gentle scolding given and past,
We bade each other good-night at last
When floating in the stillness by
Came sounds like “late,” and “supper,” and “bed;”
And brighter through a deepening sky
A million stars shone o’er my head,
And bats flew fast and silently.

When memory wings her way to you,
I nurse my faith to think it true
For one day, Nelly, you were mine! 
Ah, Dearest, had that day divine
Made us two one for good and all! 
The nursery words I now recall,
Of Tom the Piper’s Son’s one tune,
Mused over in that day of June,
Have proved the prelude to my fate! 
We were not fashioned to translate
Each other’s will as man and wife: 
And tho’ I was not broken-hearted,
As Burns when from his Mary parted,
And fled the fragrance of his life;
Yet are you near and dear to me! 
For on the bridge below the hill
I see you smile as sweetly still;
And in your clear wide-opened eyes
The spacious wonder of the skies. 
While every thoughtful dainty grace
Rests well contented in your face,
All fascinations of the rose,
Uniting in your presence close. 
Indeed, from glowing hair to feet,
So lightly poised, shaped so complete
You seem a being ’twixt a flower,
The glory of a shining hour,
And one ordained to satisfy
The claims of immortality.