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COTTAGE DAYS
VI
The Debt
O ploughboy with the purple eyes
That are so strangely clear,
Did you make all the little songs
I meet so often here?
Is it from out your singing heart
That into mine they come?
And are they flying to my lips
Because they found yours dumb?
And is that why you look at me
Half friendly, half in shame?
(And twice you stopp’d and spoke to me,
And once you ask’d my name.)
Brother! should they indeed be yours,
And this my fancy true—
Hark how they do but leave my lips
To flutter home to you!
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