Page:The Farmer's Bride (New Edition).djvu/60

 IDE be runnin' the great world over: T'was only last June month I mind that we Was thinkin' the toss and the call in the breast of the lover So everlastin' as the sea.

Heer's the same little fishes that sputter and swim, Wi' the moon's old glim on the grey, wet sand; An' him no more to me nor me to him Than the wind goin' over my hand.