He saddened if my cheer was sad, But gay he grew if I was gay; We never differed on a hair, My yes his yes, my nay his nay. The wedding hour was come, the aisles Were flushed with sun and flowers that day; I pacing balanced in my thoughts: "It's quite too late to think of nay." My bridegroom answered in his turn, Bridemaids and bridegroom shrank in fear, What man art thou to bar with nay?" He was a strong man from the north, "Put yea by for another time In which I will not say thee nay." He took me in his strong white arms, He made me fast with book and bell, Till now I've neither heart nor power し γου OU must not call me Maggie, you must not call me Dear, For I'm Lady of the Manor now stately to see; And if there comes a babe, as there may some happy 'Twill be little lord or lady at my knee. Oh, but what ails you, my sailor cousin Phil, That you shake and turn white like a cockcrow ghost? You're as white as I turned once down by the mill, When one told me you and ship and crew were lost : Philip my playfellow, when we were boy and girl (It was the Miller's Nancy told it to me), Philip with the merry life in lip and curl, Philip my playfellow drowned in the sea! I thought I should have fainted, but I did not faint; They said I looked so pale-some say so fair- Next morning; and now I am his wife. Look at my gown, Philip, and look at my ring, Where in the sun red roses blush and blow. And I'm the rose of roses, says my lord; And to him I'm more than the sun in the sky. While I hold him fast with the golden cord Of a curl, with the eyelash of an eye. His mother said "fie," and his sisters cried "shame," Am I so fair, Philip? Philip, did you think If I was fair then sure I'm fairer now, Sitting where a score of servants stand, With a coronet on high days for my brow And almost a sceptre for my hand. You're but a sailor, Philip, weatherbeaten brown, I'm a great lady in a sheltered bower, With hands grown white through having nought to do: Yet sometimes I think of you hour after hour FROM SUNSET TO STAR RISE. O from me, summer friends, and tarry not: A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold; Athirst and hungering on a barren spot. I live alone, I look to die alone: Yet sometimes when a wind sighs through the sedge Ghosts of my buried years and friends come back, My heart goes sighing after swallows flown On sometime summer's unreturning track. SPRING QUIET. GONE ONE were but the Winter, I would go to a covert Where the birds sing. Where in the whitethorn Singeth a thrush, And a robin sings In the holly-bush. Full of fresh scents Are the budding boughs Arching high over A cool green house : Full of sweet scents, And whispering air Which sayeth softly: "We spread no snare, "Here dwell in safety, Here dwell alone, With a clear stream And a mossy stone. "Here the sun shineth Most shadily; Here is heard an echo Of the far sea, F |