The Betrothal

Oh come, my lad, or go, my lad,

And love me if you like.

I shall not hear the door shut

Or the knocker strike.

Oh bring me gifts or beg me gifts,

And wed me if you will.

I'd make a man a good wife,

Sensible and still.

And why should I be cold, my lad,

And why should you repine,

Because I love a dark head

That never will be mine.

I might as well be easing you

As lie alone in bed

And waste the night in wanting

A cruel dark head.

You might as well be calling yours

What never will be his,

And one of us be happy --

There's few enough as is.