 The house where we were wed, by Will Carlton, read for LibriVox.org, by David Lawrence. I've been to the old farmhouse, good wife, where you and I were wed, where the love was born to our two hearts that now lies cold and dead. We're a long-kept secret to you, I told, in the yellow beams of the moon, and we forged our vows out of love's own gold, to be broken so soon, so soon. I passed through all the old rooms, good wife. I wandered on and on. I followed the steps of a footing ghost, the ghost of a love that is gone, and he led me out to the arbor-wife, where with myrtles I twined your hair, and he seated me down on the old stone step, and left me musing there. The sun went down, as it used to do, and sunk in the sea of night. The two bright stars that we called ours came slowly unto my sight, but the one that was mine went under a cloud, went under a cloud alone, and a tear that I wouldn't have shed for the world fell down on that old gray stone. But there be words can near be unsaid, and deeds can near be undone, except perhaps in another world where life's once more begun, and maybe some time in the time to come, when a few more years are sped, we'll love again as we used to love, in the house where we were wed. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. For a long kept secret to you, I told, than the yellow beams of the moon. And we forged our vows out of love's own gold, to be broken so soon, so soon. I passed through all the old rooms, good wife. I wandered on and on. I followed the steps of a flitting ghost, the ghost of a love that is gone. And he let me out to the arbor, wife, where with myrtles I twined your hair. And he seated me down on the old stone-step, and left me musing there. The sun went down as it used to do, and sunk in the sea of night. The two bright stars that we called ours came slowly unto my sight. But the one that was mine went under a cloud, went under a cloud alone. And a tear that I wouldn't touch yet for the world fell down on the old grey stone. But there be words, can there be unsaid, and deeds, can there be undone? Except perhaps in another world where lives once more begun. And maybe some time, in the time to come, when a few more years are sped, we'll love again as we used to love in the house where we were wed. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The House Where We Were Wed by Will Culliton Read for LibriVox.org by L-Virusia I have been to the old farmhouse, good wife, where you and I were wed, where the love was born to our two hearts, that now lies cold and dead, where a long kept secret to you, I told, in the yellow beams of the moon. And we forged our vows out of love's own gold, to be broken so soon, so soon. I passed through all the old rooms, good wife, I wandered all and all, I followed the step of a fleeting ghost, the ghost of a love that is gone. And he let me out to the arbor, wife, where with my myrtles I twined my hair, and he seated me down on the old stone step, and left me musing there. The sun went down as it used to do, and sunk in the sea of night. The two bright stars that we caught ours came slowly onto my sight. But the one that was mine went under cloud, went under cloud alone, and a tear that I wouldn't have shed for the world fell down on the old grey stone. But there will be words cannot be unsaid, and deeds cannot be undone, except perhaps another world where life once more begun, and maybe some time in the time to come, when a few more years are spent, we will love again as we used to love, in a house where we were wed. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. The House Where We Were Wed by Will Carlton Read for LibriVox.org by Ian Gray I've been to the old farmhouse, goodwife, where you and I were wed, where the love was born to our two hearts that now lies cold and dead. Where along kept secret to you, I told, in the yellow beams of the moon, and we forged our vows out of love's own gold, to be broken so soon, so soon. I passed through all the old rooms, goodwife, I wandered on and on. I followed the steps of a flitting ghost, the ghost of a love that is gone. And he led me out to the arbor, wife, where with myrtles I twined your hair, and he seated me down on the old grey step, and left me musing there. The sun went down as it used to do, and sunk in the sea of night. The two bright stars that we called ours came slowly unto my sight, but the one that was mine went under a cloud, went under a cloud alone, and a tear that I wouldn't have shed for the world fell down on the old grey stone. But there be words, can there be unsaid, and deeds can there be undone, except perhaps in another world, where life's once more begun, and maybe some time in the time to come, when a few more years are sped, we'll love again as we used to love, in the house where we were wed. The house where we were wed, by Will Carlton, read for LibriVox.org by Chessie. I've been to the old farmhouse, good wife, where you and I were wed, where the love was born to our two hearts, that now lies cold and dead, where a long-capped secret to you I told, in the yellow beams of the moon, and we forged our wows out of love's own gold, to be broken so soon, so soon. I passed through all the old rooms, good wife, I wandered on and on, I followed the steps of a flitting ghost, the ghost of a love that is gone, and he led me out to the arbor wife, where with myrtles I twined your hair, and he seated me down on the old stone step, and left me musing there. The sun went down as it used to do, and sunk in the sea of night, the two bright stars that we called ours came slowly unto my sight, but the one that was mine went under a cloud, and under a cloud alone, and the tear that I wouldn't have shed for the world fell down on the old grey stone. But there we words canerbians said, and deeds canerbian done, except perhaps in another world where life's once more begun, and maybe some time in the time to come, when a few more years are spent. We laugh again as we used to laugh, in the house where we were wet, and of poem. This recording is in the public domain. THE HOUSE WHERE WE WERE WED By Will Carlton Read for LibriVox.org by Mark Smith I've been to the old farmhouse, good wife, where you and I were wed, where the love was born to our two hearts that now lies cold and dead. Where a long kept secret to you I told in the yellow beams of the moon, and we forged our vows out of love's own gold to be broken so soon, so soon. I passed through all the old rooms, good wife, I wandered on and on, I followed the steps of a flitting ghost, the ghost of a love that is gone. Annie led me out to the arbor-wife, where with myrtles I twined your hair. Annie seated me down on the old stone-step, and left me musing there. The sun went down as it used to do, and sunk in the sea of night. The two bright stars that we called ours came slowly into my sight, but the one that was mine went under a cloud, went under a cloud alone, had a tear that I wouldn't have shed for the world fell down on the old gray stone. But there be words can there be unsaid, and deeds can there be undone, except perhaps in another world where life's once more begun, and maybe some time in the time to come when a few more years are sped. We'll love again as we used to love, in the house where we were wed. The house where we were wed by Will Carleton, read for LibriVox.org by Patty Cunningham, August 23, 2009. I've been to the old farmhouse, good wife, where you and I were wed, where the love was born to our two hearts that now lies cold and dead, where a long-kept secret to you, I told in the yellow beams of the moon, and we forged our vows out of love's own gold, to be broken so soon, so soon. I passed through all the old rooms, good wife, I wandered on and on. I followed the steps of a flitting ghost, the ghost of a love that is gone, and he led me out to the arbor-wife, where the myrtles I twined in your hair, and he seated me down on the old stone-step, and left me musing there. The sun went down as it used to do, and sunk in the sea of night. The two bright stars that we called ours came slowly unto my sight. But the one that was mine went under a cloud, went under a cloud alone, and a tear that I wouldn't have shed for the world fell down on the old gray stone. But there be words that can there be unsaid, and deeds that can there be undone, except perhaps in another world where life's once more begun, and maybe some time in the time to come, when a few more years are sped. We'll love again as we used to love, in the house where we were wed. The house where we were wed, by Will Carlton, read for LibriVox.org by Sean Michael Hogan, St. John's, Newfoundland, Canada. I've been to the old farmhouse, good wife, where you and I were wed, where the love was born to our two hearts that now lies cold and dead, where a long kept secret to you, I told, in the yellow beams of the moon, and we forged our vows out of love's own gold, to be broken so soon, so soon. I passed through all the old rooms, good wife, I wandered on and on, I followed the steps of a flitting ghost, the ghost of a love that is gone. And he led me out to the arbor, wife, where with myrtles I twined your hair, and he seated me down on the old stone step, and left me musing there. The sun went down as it used to do, and sunk in the sea of night. The two bright stars that we called ours came slowly unto my sight, but the one that was mine went under a cloud, went under a cloud alone, and a tear that I wouldn't have shed for the world fell on the old gray stone. But there be words can there be unsaid, and deeds can there be undone, except perhaps in another world where life's once more begun. And maybe some time in the time to come, when a few more years are sped, we'll love again as we used to love, in the house where we were wed. And if poem, this recording is in the public domain.