Goblin Market, The Princes Progress, and Other Poems | Page 6

work among the rye;?He lifted you from mean estate?To sit with him on high.
Because you were so good and pure?He bound you with his ring:?The neighbours call you good and pure,?Call me an outcast thing.?Even so I sit and howl in dust,?You sit in gold and sing: 30 Now which of us has tenderer heart??You had the stronger wing.
O cousin Kate, my love was true,?Your love was writ in sand:?If he had fooled not me but you,?If you stood where I stand,?He'd not have won me with his love?Nor bought me with his land;?I would have spit into his face?And not have taken his hand. 40
Yet I've a gift you have not got,?And seem not like to get:?For all your clothes and wedding-ring?I've little doubt you fret.?My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride,?Cling closer, closer yet:?Your father would give lands for one?To wear his coronet.
NOBLE SISTERS
'Now did you mark a falcon,?Sister dear, sister dear,?Flying toward my window?In the morning cool and clear??With jingling bells about her neck,?But what beneath her wing??It may have been a ribbon,?Or it may have been a ring.'--
'I marked a falcon swooping?At the break of day; 10 And for your love, my sister dove,?I 'frayed the thief away.'--
'Or did you spy a ruddy hound,?Sister fair and tall,?Went snuffing round my garden bound,?Or crouched by my bower wall??With a silken leash about his neck;?But in his mouth may be?A chain of gold and silver links,?Or a letter writ to me.'-- 20
'I heard a hound, highborn sister,?Stood baying at the moon;?I rose and drove him from your wall?Lest you should wake too soon.'--
'Or did you meet a pretty page?Sat swinging on the gate;?Sat whistling whistling like a bird,?Or may be slept too late;?With eaglets broidered on his cap,?And eaglets on his glove? 30 If you had turned his pockets out,?You had found some pledge of love.'--
'I met him at this daybreak,?Scarce the east was red:?Lest the creaking gate should anger you,?I packed him home to bed.'--
'Oh patience, sister. Did you see?A young man tall and strong,?Swift-footed to uphold the right?And to uproot the wrong, 40 Come home across the desolate sea?To woo me for his wife??And in his heart my heart is locked,?And in his life my life.'--
'I met a nameless man, sister,?Hard by your chamber door:?I said: Her husband loves her much.?And yet she loves him more.'--
'Fie, sister, fie, a wicked lie,?A lie, a wicked lie, 50 I have none other love but him,?Nor will have till I die.?And you have turned him from our door,?And stabbed him with a lie:?I will go seek him thro' the world?In sorrow till I die.'--
'Go seek in sorrow, sister,?And find in sorrow too:?If thus you shame our father's name?My curse go forth with you.' 60
SPRING
Frost-locked all the winter,?Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,?What shall make their sap ascend?That they may put forth shoots??Tips of tender green,?Leaf, or blade, or sheath;?Telling of the hidden life?That breaks forth underneath,?Life nursed in its grave by Death.
Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, 10 Drips the soaking rain,?By fits looks down the waking sun:?Young grass springs on the plain;?Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees;?Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,?Swollen with sap put forth their shoots;?Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane;?Birds sing and pair again.
There is no time like Spring,?When life's alive in everything, 20 Before new nestlings sing,?Before cleft swallows speed their journey back?Along the trackless track--?God guides their wing,?He spreads their table that they nothing lack,--?Before the daisy grows a common flower,?Before the sun has power?To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.
There is no time like Spring,?Like Spring that passes by; 30 There is no life like Spring-life born to die,--?Piercing the sod,?Clothing the uncouth clod,?Hatched in the nest,?Fledged on the windy bough,?Strong on the wing:?There is no time like Spring that passes by,?Now newly born, and now?Hastening to die.
THE LAMBS OF GRASMERE, 1860
The upland flocks grew starved and thinned:?Their shepherds scarce could feed the lambs?Whose milkless mothers butted them,?Or who were orphaned of their dams.?The lambs athirst for mother's milk?Filled all the place with piteous sounds:?Their mothers' bones made white for miles?The pastureless wet pasture grounds.
Day after day, night after night,?From lamb to lamb the shepherds went, 10 With teapots for the bleating mouths?Instead of nature's nourishment.?The little shivering gaping things?Soon knew the step that brought them aid,?And fondled the protecting hand,?And rubbed it with a woolly head.
Then, as the days waxed on to weeks,?It was a pretty sight to see?These lambs with frisky heads and tails?Skipping and leaping on the lea, 20 Bleating in tender, trustful tones,?Resting on rocky crag or mound.?And following the beloved feet?That once had sought for them and found.
These very shepherds of their flocks,?These loving lambs so meek to please,?Are worthy of recording words?And honour in their due degrees:?So I might live a hundred years,?And roam