Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
The Courtin’James Russell Lowell (1819–1891)
Z
An’ peeked in thru’ the winder,
An’ there sot Huldy all alone,
’Ith no one nigh to hender.
An’ in amongst ’em rusted
The ole queen’s-arm thet gran’ther Young
Fetched back from Concord busted.
Seemed warm from floor to ceilin’,
An’ she looked full ez rosy agin
Ez the apples she was peelin’.
On sech a blessed cretur,
A dogrose blushin’ to a brook
Ain’t modester nor sweeter.
All crinkly like curled maple,
The side she breshed felt full o’ sun
Ez a south slope in Ap’il.
Ez hisn in the choir;
My! when he made Ole Hunderd ring,
She knowed the Lord was nigher.
When her new meetin’-bunnet
Felt somehow thru’ its crown a pair
O’ blue eyes sot upon it.
She seemed to’ve gut a new soul,
For she felt sartin-sure he’d come,
Down to her very shoe-sole.
A-raspin’ on the scraper,—
All ways to once her feelin’s flew
Like sparks in burnt-up paper.
Some doubtfle o’ the sekle,
His heart kep’ goin’ pity-pat,
But hern went pity Zekle.
Ez though she wished him furder,
An’ on her apples kep’ to work,
Parin’ away like murder.
“Wal … no … I come dasignin’”—
“To see my Ma? She’s sprinklin’ clo’es
Agin to-morrer’s i’nin’.”
Or don’t, ’ould be presumin’;
Mebby to mean yes an’ say no
Comes nateral to women.
Then stood a spell on t’other,
An’ on which one he felt the wust
He couldn’t ha’ told ye nuther.
Says she, “Think likely, Mister;”
That last word pricked him like a pin,
An’ … Wal, he up an’ kist her.
Huldy sot pale ez ashes,
All kin’ o’ smily roun’ the lips
An’ teary roun’ the lashes.
Whose naturs never vary,
Like streams that keep a summer mind
Snowhid in Jenooary.
Too tight for all expressin’,
Tell mother see how metters stood,
And gin ’em both her blessin’.
Down to the Bay o’ Fundy,
An’ all I know is they was cried
In meetin’ come nex’ Sunday.