Home › William Wordsworth › William Wordsworth (Love-letter from Dakota)

William Wordsworth (Love-letter from Dakota)

$ A Love-letter from Dakota.

WEET Jinny, I write on me knee, Wid the shtump of a limitid pincil; I would write on my disk, but you see I'm widout that convainient utinsil.

I've a house of my own, but as yet Me furniture's homely an' shlinder; It's a wife I'm afther, to let Her consult her ideals of shplindor.

If I should buy tables an' chairs, An' bureaus, an' carpets, an' vases, An'-bother the lingo of wares !- An' curtains wid camel-hair laces, Perhaps whin I married a wife She would turn up her nose at me choosin', Or waysht the shweet bloom of her life Wid pretinse of contint at their usin'.

CH So now, I've no carpets to shweep, Nor tables nor chairs to tip o'er; Whin night comes I roll up an' shleep As contint as a pig on the floor.

But ah, the shweet dreams that I dream Of Erin's most beautiful daughter!

Until in me visions you seem On your way to me over the water ! (-Please pardon me method ungainly, But, hopin' the future may yoke us, I'll try to be bould an' speak plainly, An' bring me note down to a focus :-) Would you marry a man wid a farrum, An' a house most ixquisitely warrum, Wid wall so ixca.din'ly thick, ma'am, For they're built of a single big brick, ma'am, Touchin' Mexico, Texas, Nebrasky- The thickest walls iver you thought of, Why, they cover the country we bought of The size of Alexis-Alasky!

For sure its great walls are the worruld- In fact it's a hole in the ground; But oh, it's the place to be curruled Whin the whirlwinds are twirlin' around!

It is ivery bit basemint ixcipt The parlor, that lies out-of-doors, Where the zephyr's pure fingers have swept Its million-ply carpeted floors.

Forgive me ixtravagint speeches, But it's fair as the dreams of a Hindoo, Wid me parlor's unlimitid reaches An' the sky for a sunny bay-window.

Me darlint, Dakota is new, Sod houses are here widout number, But I'll build a broad mansion for you- Whin I'm able to purchase the lumber.

An' sure 'twill not take very long Where the soil is so fertile, I'm tould:

Whin you tune up your plow for a song, The earth hums a chorus of gould.

Thin come to your Dinnis O'Brion, An' let his fidelity prove That his heart is as strong as a lion, Ixcipt that it's burstin' wid love.