. Blood for blood; a legend of the "big elm tree,". Shepherd Boy, sing—tis morning, and May;Thy singing will keep the bold wolf at bay,And he will not steal thy lambs away, And thy sweet task be Farmer Boy, whistle an idle tune—The morning dews will vanish ere noon,And the reaper will come with sickle soon,And summer will hang its harvest moon Above the fields of clover. Nut-brown Maiden with flowing hair,Sing, without envy of those more fair;Do not burden lifes morning with care— The leaves are not yet , and be glad, at the spinning wheel—Sing, and a life of joy unreel—Sing
. Blood for blood; a legend of the "big elm tree,". Shepherd Boy, sing—tis morning, and May;Thy singing will keep the bold wolf at bay,And he will not steal thy lambs away, And thy sweet task be Farmer Boy, whistle an idle tune—The morning dews will vanish ere noon,And the reaper will come with sickle soon,And summer will hang its harvest moon Above the fields of clover. Nut-brown Maiden with flowing hair,Sing, without envy of those more fair;Do not burden lifes morning with care— The leaves are not yet , and be glad, at the spinning wheel—Sing, and a life of joy unreel—Sing, while sunshine covers the plainAnd shadows hide—but do not complain—Therell come a day when some lonesome swain For a helpmate will be calling. IOI Sing in thy castle, O Lady fair, White is thy brow and black is thy hair— Sing loves ditty and never despair, Some one will hear thy thy lattice-barred window a knightEven now hears thy song with delight;Only the jasmine screens him from sight— O sing loves ditty 102 ACROSS THE DUNES MY NANNIEWAITS When morning stars but dimly shine, I milk the cows as best I can—While streams fly in and out the pail, I milk the cows and think of when the stars again appear, And all the cares of day are gone,I cross the dunes and think of Nan, As I go plodding, plodding Nannie waits, my Nannie waits, At eventide she waits for me—When stars are dim and night comes on, Across the dunes she waits for me. All day I guide the stubborn plow, And furrows turn as best I can—While in and out the furrows run, I plow and think of little droning bee no longer flies And whip-poor-will sings weirdly,With joyful song I cross the dunes Where Nannie sits and waits for me. 103 My Nannie waits, my Nannie waits,At eventide she waits for me— When stars appear and night comes on,She waits across the dunes for me.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidbloodforbloo, bookyear1906
