Verse > Anthologies > Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. > An American Anthology, 1787–1900
Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908).  An American Anthology, 1787–1900.  1900.
1181. He ’d Nothing but His Violin
By Mary Kyle Dallas
HE ’D nothing but his violin,
I ’d nothing but my song,
But we were wed when skies were blue
And summer days were long;
And when we rested by the hedge,        5
The robins came and told
How they had dared to woo and win,
When early Spring was cold.
We sometimes supped on dew-berries,
Or slept among the hay,        10
But oft the farmers’ wives at eve
Came out to hear us play;
The rare old songs, the dear old tunes,—
We could not starve for long
While my man had his violin,        15
And I my sweet love-song.


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