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.