Love of my life, bear witness here
How we have heard them all the year;
How to the skylark’s song are set
The days we never can forget.
At Rustington, do you remember?
We heard the skylarks in December;
In January above the snow
They sang to us by Hurstmonceux
Once in the keenest airs of March
We heard them near the Marble Arch;
Their April song thrilled Tonbridge air;
May found them singing everywhere;
And oh, in Sheppey, how their tune
Rhymed with the bean-flower scent in June.
One unforgotten day at Rye
They sang a love-song in July;
In August, hard by Lewes town,
They sang of joy ’twixt sky and down;
And in September’s golden spell
We heard them singing on Scaw Fell.
October’s leaves were brown and sere,
But skylarks sang by Teston Weir;
And in November, at Mount’s Bay,
They sang upon our wedding day!
. . . . .
Mr.-à-Field, go forth, go forth,
Go east and west and south and north;
You’ll always find the furze in flower,
Find every hour the lovers’ hour,
And, by my faith in love and rhyme,
The skylark singing all the time!
SATURDAY SONG
They talk about gardens of roses,
And moonlight over the sea,
And mountains and snow
And sunsetty glow,
But I know what is best for me.
The prettiest sight I know,
Worth all your roses and snow,
Is the blaze of light on a Saturday night,
When the barrows are set in a row.
I’ve heard of bazaars in India
All glitter and spices and smells,
But they don’t compare
With the naphtha flare
And the herrings the coster sells;
And the oranges piled like gold,
The cucumbers lean and cold,
And the red and white block-trimmings
And the strawberries fresh and ripe,
And the peas and beans,
And the sprouts and greens,
And the ’taters and trotters and tripe.
And the shops where they sell the chairs,
The mangles and tables and bedding,
And the lovers go by in pairs,
And look—and think of the wedding.
And your girl has her arm in yours,
And you whisper and make her blush.
Oh! the snap in her eyes—and her smiles and her sighs
As she fancies the purple plush!
And you haven’t a penny to spend,
But you dream that you’ve pounds and pounds;
And arm in arm with your only friend
You make your Saturday rounds:
And you see the cradle bright
With ribbon—lace—pink and white;
And she stops her laugh
And you drop your chaff
In the light of the Saturday night.
And the world is new
For her and you—
A little bit of all-right.
THE CHAMPION
Young and a conqueror, once on a day,
Wild white Winter rode out this way;
With his sword of ice and his banner of snow
Vanquished the Summer and laid her low.