Marthy Ellen

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They's nothin' in the name to strike
  A feller more'n common like!
  'Taint liable to git no praise
  Ner nothin' like it nowadays;
  An' yit that name o' her'n is jest
  As purty as the purtiest--
  And more 'n that, I'm here to say
  I'll live a-thinkin' thataway
  And die far Marthy Ellen!

  It may be I was prejudust
  In favor of it from the fust--
  'Cause I kin ricollect jest how
  We met, and hear her mother now
  A-callin' of her down the road--
  And, aggervatin' little toad!--
  I see her now, jes' sort o' half-
  Way disapp'inted, turn and laugh
  And mock her--"Marthy Ellen!"

  Our people never had no fuss,
  And yit they never tuck to us;
  We neighbered back and foreds some;
  Until they see she liked to come
  To our house--and me and her
  Were jest together ever'whur
  And all the time--and when they'd see
  That I liked her and she liked me,
  They'd holler "Marthy Ellen!"

  When we growed up, and they shet down
  On me and her a-runnin' roun'
  Together, and her father said
  He'd never leave her nary red,
  So he'p him, ef she married me,
  And so on--and her mother she
  Jest agged the gyrl, and said she 'lowed
  She'd ruther see her in her shroud,
  I _writ_ to Marthy Ellen--

  That is, I kindo' tuck my pen
  In hand, and stated whur and when
  The undersigned would be that night,
  With two good hosses saddled right
  Far lively travelin' in case
  Her folks 'ud like to jine the race.
  She sent the same note back, and writ
  "The rose is red!" right under it--
  "Your 'n allus, Marthy Ellen."

  That's all, I reckon--Nothin' more
  To tell but what you've heerd afore--
  The same old story, sweeter though
  Far all the trouble, don't you know.
  Old-fashioned name! and yit it's jest
  As purty as the purtiest;
  And more 'n that, I'm here to say
  I'll live a-thinking thataway,
  And die far Marthy Ellen!

© James Whitcomb Riley