Page:Poems (IA poemslowell00lowe).pdf/166

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148

LOVE.

True Love is but a humble, low-born thing,And hath its food served up in earthen ware;It is a thing to walk with, hand in hand,Through the every-dayness of this work-day world,Raring its tender feet to every roughness,Yet letting not one heart-beat go astrayFrom Beanty’s law of plainness and content;A simple, fire-side thing, whose quiet smileCan warm earth’s poorest hovel to a home;Which, when our autumn cometh, as it must,And life in the chill wind shivers bare and leafless,Shall still be blest with Indian-summer youthIn bleak November, and, with thankful heart,
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