Plump Gertrude passed me with her basket full, A stronger hand than hers helped it along; A voice talked with her through the shadows cool More sweet to me than song. Ah Willie, Willie, was my love less worth Than apples with their green leaves piled above? I counted rosiest apples on the earth Of far less worth than love. So once it was with me you stooped to talk I let my neighbours pass me, ones and twos And groups; the latest said the night grew chill, And hastened but I loitered, while the dews Fell fast I loitered still. Two doves SONG. upon the selfsame branch, Two lilies on a single stem, Two butterflies upon one flower : : Oh happy they who look on them. Who look upon them hand in hand Flushed in the rosy summer light; Who look upon them hand in hand And never give a thought to night. MAUDE CLARE. OUT of the church she followed them With a lofty step and mien : His bride was like a village maid, "Son Thomas," his lady mother said, With smiles, almost with tears: "May Nell and you but live as true As we have done for years; "Your father thirty years ago Had just your tale to tell; But he was not so pale as you, Nor I so pale as Nell." My lord was pale with inward strife, And Nell was pale with pride; My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare Or ever he kissed the bride. "Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord, Have brought my gift," she said : "To bless the hearth, to bless the board, To bless the marriage-bed. "Here's my half of the golden chain You wore about your neck, That day we waded ankle-deep "Here's my half of the faded leaves We plucked from budding bough, With feet amongst the lily leaves, The lilies are budding now." He strove to match her scorn with scorn, He faltered in his place: "Lady," he said,-" Maude Clare," he said, "Maude Clare :"—and hid his face. She turn'd to Nell: " My Lady Nell, I have a gift for you; Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone, Or, were it flowers, the dew. "Take my share of a fickle heart, Mine of a paltry love: Take it or leave it as you will, I wash my hands thereof." "And what you leave," said Nell, "I'll take, And what you spurn, I'll wear; For he's my lord for better and worse, And him I love, Maude Clare. |