Truck-Garden Market-Day

Peaceful and slow, peaceful and slow, / Skillful and deft, in my own rhythm, / Happy about the house I go— / For the men are in town, and their noise gone with ’em. // Well I remember, long ago, / How still, in my girlish room, the night was— / Watching the moon from my window, / While cool on the empty bed her light was. // More than my heart to him I gave, / When I gave my heart in soft surrender— / Who now am the timid, laughed-at slave / Of a man unaware of this, and tender. // Never must he know how I feel, / Or how, at times, too loud his voice is— / When, just at the creak of his wagon-wheel / Cramped for the barn, my life rejoices! // He would be troubled; he could not learn / How small a part of myself I keep / To smell the meadows, or sun the churn, / When he’s at market, or while he’s asleep.