Lovers, a little of this your happy time
Give to the thought of us who were as you,
That we, whose dearest passion in your prime
Is but a winter garment, may renew
Our love in yours, our flesh in your desire,
Our tenderness in your discovering kiss,
For we are half the fuel of your fire,
As ours was fed by Marc and Beatrice.
Remember us, and, when you too are dead,
Our prayer with yours shall fall upon love’s spring
That all our ghostly loves be comforted
In those yet later lover’s love-making;
So shall oblivion bring his dust to spill
On brain and limbs, and we be lovers still.
DERBYSHIRE SONG
Come loving me to Darley Dale
In spring time or sickle time,
And we will make as proud a tale
As lovers in the antique prime
Of Harry or Elizabeth.
With kirtle green and nodding flowers
To deck my hair and little waist,
I ’ll be worth a lover’s hours....
Come, fellow, thrive, there is no haste
But soon is worn away in death.
Soon shall the blood be tame, and soon
Our bodies lie in Darley Dale,
Unreckoning of jolly June,
With tongues past telling any tale;
My man, come loving me to-day.
I have a wrist is smooth and brown,
I have a shoulder smooth and white,
I have my grace in any gown
By sun or moon or candle-light....
Come Darley way, come Darley way.