~from the American Folk Song Suite
We climbed the blue mountain
through the last spring snowfall.
It was cold, so we build a fire,
and sat with our backs against a stone.
“Marry me,” he said again.
“Why won’t you marry me?”
I want a home,” he said.
“I want children. I work
down there all day, the dirt,
the noise of engines–I want to come home
someplace quiet and nice,
a good supper, a friendly bed.”
We’d been through this before.
He doesn’t understand.
I told him once more
that I couldn’t, that I wouldn’t.
I have too much to do,
things to see before I settle down
with the burden of house and babies.
I didn’t tell him I was never quite sure of him,
though for awhile it was good,
or maybe I was just blinded by his good looks.
Stealing hearts is what he did best.
I didn’t tell him that the other day I heard
about the girl he had
over on the other side of the mountain,
and the wife he left back in Philadelphia.
What would be the point?
It’s better to let him down like this, safer.
No blame, except on me.
“You’ll lose me if you don’t marry me,”
he said. I didn’t say anything.
“Maybe you don’t love me anymore,”
he said, and I said maybe not.
So we put the fire out and walked down.
The snow was already melting
and the ground was soft and damp.
Once I get used to being alone again,
I know this will be for the best.
At least, that’s what I’m telling my friends.
Can you guess the song?