My Wife and My Sword

Upon the roof a dove,

A star within the sky
Upon my knees my love,

For whom I live and die;
In raptures I embrace

And rock her on my knees,
Just as the dewdrop sways

Upon the leafy trees.

But why, you surely ask,

Kiss not her pretty face?
It is an easy task

To kiss while we embrace!
Many a burning kiss

I press upon her lip,
For such celestial bliss

I cannot now let slip.

And thus we pass our day,

I and my winsome wife,
Bright as a rare gem's ray

Has been our wedded life.
A friend — my sword — it seems

This love likes not at all;
He shoots his angry gleams

Upon me from the wall.

Lock not on me, good sword,

With eyes so stern and cold,
There should be no discord

Between us, comrades old.
To women leave such things

As green-eyed jealousy;
To men but shame it brings,

And you a man must be!
But, then, if you would pause

To think who is my love,
You never would see cause

Your comrade to reprove
She is the sweetest maid

She is so good and true;
Like her, God has but made,

I know, a very few.

If thee, good sword, again

Shall need our native land;
To seek the battle-plain

Will be my wife's command.
She will insist that I

Go forth, my sword, with thee,
To fight — if need, to die —

For glorious liberty!