The Betrothal

 Oh, come, my lad, or go, my lad, 
And love me if you like.
 
I shall not hear the door shut 
Nor the knocker strike.
 

Oh, bring me gifts or beg me gifts, 
And wed me if you will.
 
I'd make a man a good wife, 
Sensible and still.
 

And why should I be cold, my lad, 
And why should you repine, 
Because I love a dark head 
That never will be mine? 

I might as well be easing you 
As lie alone in bed 
And waste the night in wanting 
A cruel dark head.
 

You might as well be calling yours 
What never will be his, 
And one of us be happy.
 
There's few enough as is.

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