| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1181. He ’d Nothing but His Violin |
| | | By Mary Kyle Dallas |
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| HE ’D nothing but his violin, | |
| I ’d nothing but my song, | |
| But we were wed when skies were blue | |
| And summer days were long; | |
| And when we rested by the hedge, | 5 |
| The robins came and told | |
| How they had dared to woo and win, | |
| When early Spring was cold. | |
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| We sometimes supped on dew-berries, | |
| Or slept among the hay, | 10 |
| But oft the farmers’ wives at eve | |
| Came out to hear us play; | |
| The rare old songs, the dear old tunes,— | |
| We could not starve for long | |
| While my man had his violin, | 15 |
| And I my sweet love-song. | |
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