My Country Love

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If you passed her in your city

You would call her badly dressed,

But the faded homespun covers

Such a heart in such a breast!

True, her rosy face is freckled

By the sun’s abundant flame,

But she’s mine with all her failings,

And I love her just the same.

If her hands are red they grapple

To my hands with splendid strength,

For she’s mine, all mine’s the beauty

Of her straight and lovely length!

True, her hose be think and homely

And her speech is homely, too;

But she’s mine! her rarest charm

is She’s for me, and not for you!

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