National Songs
Marriage
No frost, and the flowers would bloom
Even in wintry weather.
No fret would be mine, if I
And grief did not dwell together;
Ne’er should I sit, as I sit
Here, with a sob in my bosom,
Gazing on open fields—
Fields with never a blossom!
Then to my father said I,
“Marry me, sir, to my equal;
Don’t think of splendours for me:
What meaneth rank in the sequel?
Don’t look for spacious abodes;
I have no wish to be wealthy.
Give me a husband that’s true;
Give me a husband that’s healthy.”