We think her white brows often ached Beneath her crown,

Till silvery hairs showed in her locks That used to be so brown.

"We never heard her speak in haste :

Her tones were sweet,

And modulated just so much

As it was meet:

Her heart sat silent through the noise
And concourse of the street.
There was no hurry in her hands,
No hurry in her feet;

There was no bliss drew nigh to her,
That she might run to greet.

"You should have wept her yesterday, Wasting upon her bed :

But wherefore should you weep to-day That she is dead?

Lo, we who love weep not to-day,

But crown her royal head.

Let be these poppies that we strew,

Your roses are too red:

Let be these poppies, not for you

Cut down and spread."

L

MAIDEN-SONG.

ONG ago and long ago,

And long ago still,

There dwelt three merry maidens
Upon a distant hill.
One was tall Meggan,

And one was dainty May,
But one was fair Margaret,

More fair than I can say,

Long ago and long ago.

When Meggan plucked the thorny rose,
And when May pulled the brier,
Half the birds would swoop to see,

Half the beasts draw nigher;
Half the fishes of the streams

Would dart up to admire :

But when Margaret plucked a flag-flower,

Or poppy hot aflame,

All the beasts and all the birds

And all the fishes came

To her hand more soft than snow.

Strawberry leaves and May-dew
In brisk morning air,

Strawberry leaves and May-dew
Make maidens fair.