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LETTICE.
- I SAID to Lettice, our sister Lettice,
- While drooped and glistened her eye‐lash brown,
- “Your man’s a poor man, a cold and dour man,
- There’s many a better about our town.”
- She smiled securely—“He loves me purely:
- A true heart’s safe, both in smile or frown;
- And nothing harms me while his love warms me,
- Whether the world go up or down.”
- “He comes of strangers, and they are rangers,
- And ill to trust, girl, when out of sight:
- Fremd folk may blame ye, and e’en defame ye,—
- A gown oft handled looks seldom white.”
- She raise serenely her eyelids queenly,—
- “My innocence is my whitest gown;
- No harsh tongue grieves me while he believes me,
- Whether the world go up or down.”
- “Your man’s a frail man, was ne’er a hale man,
- And sickness knocketh at every door,
- And death comes making bold hearts cower, breaking—”
- Our Lettice trembled;—but once, no more.
- “If death should enter, smite to the centre
- Our poor home palace, all crumbling down,
- He cannot fright us, nor disunite us,
- Life bears Love’s cross, death brings Love’s crown.”
