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MARY.
I did for love of him would find excuse;
And so at last worn out with hope deferred
Too long (I tell you what you guess), we married
When I was staying with some distant kindred,
And spoke to none, not even William's mother
For fear of mixing others with our blame;
And I came home again; we fixed to speak
Unto my father in some happy hour,
And say what we had done, but much my heart
Misgave me, and I could not bear to meet
His eye, or hear him speak unto me kindly
And know I was deceiving him, although
But for a time: my youngest brother George,
That in the world I loved next best to William,
Just then came back from sea; we sat one evening
Just as the short November day was closing
All in our little parlour round the fire—
My brothers had come home from work, my sisters
Had both called in to have a look at George—
I never saw my father seem so happy
As then he did to have us all about him;
And as they talked together in the gloaming
I drew my wheel beside me, and seemed bent
Upon my spinning, but I only hoped
Its busy hum might still the busier thoughts
That turned, as it was turning, in my brain:
My father said, "Ay, Mary will not waste
An hour as we do, there she sits and spins,
Still for the wedding! well, when that day comes,
No one will have a better plenished house