Page:Poems Greenwell.djvu/263

 Mary. His father died when he was young; his mother
Had held a little farm not far from ours,
As best she could since then, and William
Had worked for her and for the younger ones,
'Till, as he oft has told me, he ne'er knew
The feeling of being young or like a boy,
The cares of life set in on him so early;
And he was thoughtful far beyond his years,
Although I do not think he ever had
A thought except for others till he knew me,
And then he said that Love had made him selfish
In making him so happy, still contriving
And planning how we might be happier still;
We used to hope my father, when we married,
Would set us up upon a larger farm,
Where we could take his mother home to us,
And William used to say, that he would wait
As long for me as Jacob did for Rachel
(Serving that hard apprenticeship twice over),
But could not, like him, think it but a day!
For time wore on, and still we hoped and waited,
Until at last, with William and my heart
Persuading me together, I began
To think my father, that withheld consent
Still for some fancied reason, might not grieve
Perchance if it were taken without asking;
I saw that he loved William more and more,
And thought that he would end where I began,
By loving him so much that everything