The speaker is deeply in love with Mary Bateman, describing her in sweet, rural images: a cotton plaid, a straw bonnet, cheeks like rose petals, lips like hawthorn berries. She haunts his thoughts even in sleep—her curls become Cupid’s nets, her voice a melody that startles him awake. But each time he opens his eyes, she is gone. The poem moves through a restless cycle of dreaming and waking, the same lovely vision returning only to dissolve into lonely darkness. In the final stillness of night, the river Trent slides silently by, cobwebs glisten with dew, and the clear moonlight makes him sigh and wonder aloud if Mary might be walking there. The mood is tender and aching, blending affection with a quiet sense of loss. The whole poem feels suspended between sleeping and waking, where longing refuses to let go.
Mary Bateman — Summary
My love she wears a cotton plaid, A bonnet of the straw; Her cheeks are leaves of roses spread, Her lips are like the haw. In truth she is as sweet a maid As true love ever saw.
Her curls are ever in my eyes, As nets by Cupid flung; Her voice will oft my sleep surprise, More sweet then ballad sung. O Mary Bateman's curling hair! I wake, and there is nothing there.
I wake, and fall asleep again, The same delights in visions rise; There's nothing can appear more plain Than those rose cheeks and those bright eyes. I wake again, and all alone Sits Darkness on his ebon throne.
All silent runs the silver Trent, The cobweb veils are all wet through, A silver bead's on every bent, On every leaf a bleb of dew. I sighed, the moon it shone so clear; Was Mary Bateman walking here?