"I love thee so, I love thee so, 
I will not ever let thee go," 
Shame said, and kissed me tenderly; 
"I will be to thee for thy wife,
And all the nights and days of life 
Shall find me faithful unto thee. 

"The vine and peaches thou dost set 
Shall bear my mark, lest thou forget. 
The labour of thy weary hands 
We two will eat; we two will drink 
Life's cup, and, when thy soul-fires sink, 
I'll blow flame up into the brands.

"Hate me or love me: I am thine,
My tears are in thy cup for wine,
My laughter is thy musicking; 
No strength in fennel shalt thou find 
To put my weakness from thy mind, 
To loosen these my hands that cling. 

"I love thee so, my mate, my mate,
That when thy hearers for thee wait, 
I will not wholly let thee go: 
But I will plant above thy sleep 
Rowers that shall my memory keep 
When thou art earth in earth below." 

A beggar through the world am I,
From place to place I wander by.
Fill up my pilgrim's scrip for me,
For Christ's sweet sake and charity!

A little of thy steadfastness,
Rounded with leafy gracefulness,
Old oak, give me,
That the world's blasts may round me blow,
And I yield gently to and fro,
While my stout-hearted trunk below
And firm-set roots unshaken be.

Some of thy stern, unyielding might,
Enduring still through day and night
Rude tempest-shock and withering blight,
That I may keep at bay
The changeful April sky of chance
And the strong tide of circumstance, —
Give me, old granite gray.

Some of thy pensiveness serene,
Some of thy never-dying green,
Put in this scrip of mine,
That griefs may fall like snow-flakes light,
And deck me in a robe of white,
Ready to be an angel bright,
O sweetly mournful pine.

A little of thy merriment,
Of thy sparkling, light content,
Give me, my cheerful brook,
That I may still be full of glee
And gladsomeness, where'er I be,
Though fickle fate hath prisoned me
In some neglected nook.

Ye have been very kind and good
To me, since I've been in. the wood;
Ye have gone nigh to fill my heart;
But good-by, kind friends, every one,
I've far to go ere set of sun;
Of all good things I would have part,
The day was high ere I could start,
And so my journey 's scarce begun.

Heaven help me! how could I forget
To beg of thee, dear violet!
Some of thy modesty,
That blossoms here as well, unseen,
As if before the world thou 'dst been,
Oh, give, to strengthen me.