Driving Home The Cows

Along the shady country road at silent eventide,

     Which wound, half choked by running vines and overhanging boughs

Down to the distant pasture, oft we loitered side by side,

     Sweet Jesse Doane, us two alone, behind the lazy cows.

‘Twas sweet that hour at eventide, ‘twas sweet to be with her,

     And tender were those thoughts of mine her presence did arouse;

And I loved her, yeas I loved her, with a passion all astir,

     For she was fair, and none were there, while driving home the cows.

And so we tread the country road each fading summer day,

     And through the autumn when the frost had painted red the boughs;

And still I feared to tell her what my heart bade me to say,

     For fear she might not come some night to stroll behind the cows.

But as the heart commands the tongue, ere long I spoke the word,

     And sweetly did she turn to me with love-light ‘neath her brows,

And say that she would have me, – sweetest tones I ever heard,

     Providing she each night with me could stroll behind the cows.

June 27, ‘94

Pub. in The

Boston Transcript,

May 18, 1895