Riley Love-Lyrics | Page 7

of her--both her parents dead and gone-- And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way,?And him a blame' old bachelor, confirm'der ev'ry day!?I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from the time He settled in the neighberhood, and hadn't airy a dime?Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on!-- So I got to thinkin' of her--both her parents dead and gone!
I got to thinkin' of her; and a-wundern what she done?That all her sisters kep' a-gittin' married, one by one, And her without no chances--and the best girl of the pack-- An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind her back! And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, When none of 'em was left, you know, but Evaline and John, And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be bline To not see what a wife they'd git if they got Evaline!
I got to thinkin' of her; in my great affliction she?Was sich a comfert to us, and so kind and neighberly,-- She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out little Jane, And talk of _her own_ mother 'at she'd never see again-- Maybe sometimes cry together--though, fer the most part she Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she'd put her bonnet on?And say she'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John!
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I got to thinkin' of her, as I say,--and more and more?I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens 'at she bore,-- Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John-- You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife-- 'Less some one married _Evaline_ and packed her off some day!-- So I got to thinkin' of her--and it happened that-away.
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WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE
I
When my dreams come true--when my dreams come true--?Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and the dew,
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To listen--smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings? And the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view,?Shall I vanish from his vision--when my dreams come true?
When my dreams come true--shall the simple gown I wear?Be changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair Be raveled into flossy mists of rarest, fairest gold,?To be minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold?-- Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to?"The fervor of his passion"--when my dreams come true?
II
When my dreams come true--I shall bide among the sheaves Of happy harvest meadows; and the grasses and the leaves Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the sun, Till the moon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' work is done-- Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do The meanest sheaf of harvest--when my dreams come true.
When my dreams come true! when my dreams come true!?True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew;?The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky: And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you,?My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true.
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NOTHIN' TO SAY
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!?Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their way! Yer mother did afore you, when her folks objected to me-- Yit here I am, and here you air; and yer mother--where is she?
You look lots like yer mother: Purty much same in size; And about the same complected; and favor about the eyes: Like her, too, about _livin'_ here,--because _she_ couldn't stay: It'll 'most seem like you was dead--like her!--But I hain't got
nothin' to say!
She left you her little Bible--writ yer name acrost the page-- And left her ear bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age. I've allus kep'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' away-- Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!
You don't rikollect her, I reckon? No; you wasn't a year old then! And now yer--how old _air_ you? W'y, child, not _"twenty!"_ When? And yer nex' birthday's in Aprile? and you want to git married that
day? I wisht yer mother was livin'!--But--I hain't got nothin' to say!
Twenty year! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found!?There's a straw ketched onto yer dress there--I'll bresh it
off--turn around. (Her mother was jes' twenty when us two run away!)?Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say!
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IKE WALTON'S PRAYER
I crave, dear Lord,?No boundless