There I halted. Further down the
hollow
Stood the township, where my errand lay.
Firm my purpose, till a voice cried
(Follow!
Come this way—I tell you—come this
way!)
Silence, Thrush! You know I think of
buying
A Spring-tide hat; my frock is worn and
old.
So to the shops I go. What's that you're
crying?
(Here! Come here! And gather primrose
gold.)
Well, yes. Some day I will; but time is
going.
I haste to purchase silks and satins fair.
I'm all in rags. (The Lady's Smock is
showing
Up yonder, in the little coppice there.)
And wood anemones spread out their
laces;
Each celandine has donned a silken gown;
The violets are lifting shy sweet faces.
(And there's a chiff-chaff, soft, and slim, and
brown.)
But what about my hat? (The bees are
humming.)
And my new frock? (The hawthorn's
budding free!
Sweet! Oh, so sweet!) Well, have your
way. I'm coming!
And who's to blame for that? (Why, me!
Me! Me!)
Summer met Me
Summer met me in the glade,
With a host of fair princesses,
Golden iris, foxgloves staid,
Sunbeams flecked their gorgeous dresses.
Roses followed in her train,
Creamy elder-flowers beset me,
Singing, down the scented lane,
Summer met me!
Summer met me! Harebells rang,
Honeysuckle clustered near,
As the royal pageant sang
Songs enchanting to the ear.
Rainy days may come apace,
Nevermore to grieve or fret me,
Since, in all her radiant grace,
Summer met me!
The Carrier
"Owd John's got past his work," said
they,
Last week as ever was—"don't pay
To send by him. He's stoopid, too,
And brings things what won't never do.
We'll send by post, he is that slow.
And that owd hoss of his can't go."
But 'smornin', well, 'twas fun to see
The gentlefolks run after we.
Squire's lady stopped I in the lane,
"Oh," says she, "goin' to town again?
You'll not mind calling into Bings
To fetch my cakes and buns and things?
I've got a party comin' on,
And nought to eat . . . so, DO 'ee, John."
Then, up the street, who should I see,
But old Mam Bessant hail'n' me.
And Doctor's wife, and Mrs. Higgs
Was wantin' vittles for their pigs,
And would I bring some? (Well, what
nex'?)
And Granny Dunn has broke her specs,
And wants 'em mended up in town,
So would John call and bring 'em down
To-night . . . ? and so the tale goes on,
'Tis, "Sure you will, now DO 'ee, John."
Well, 'tis a hevil wind that blows
Nobody any good; it shows
As owd John haves his uses yet,
Though now and then he do forget.
Gee up, owd gal. When strikes is on,
They're glad of pore owd stoopid John.
The Lad's Love by the
Gate
Down in the dear West Country,
there's a garden where I know
The Spring is rioting this hour, though
I am far away—
Where all the glad flower-faces are old
loves of long ago,
And each in its accustomed place is
blossoming to-day.
The lilac drops her amethysts upon the
mossy wall,
While in her boughs a cheerful thrush
is calling to his mate.
Dear breath of mignonette and stocks!
I love you, know you all.
And, oh, the fragrant spices from the
lad's love by the gate!
Kind wind from the West Country, wet
wind, but scented so,
That straight from my dear garden
you seem but lately come,
Just tell me of the yellow broom, the
guelder rose's snow,
And of the tangled clematis where
myriad insects hum.
Oh, is there any heartsease left, or any
rosemary?
And in their own green solitudes, say,
do the lilies wait?
I knew it! Gentle wind, but once—
speak low and tenderly—
How fares it—tell me truly—with the
lad's love by the gate?