Peacock Pie, A Book of Rhymes | Page 8

a deep breath,
And ran like
the wind away.
Past Forest, River, Mountain, River, ForestHe
coursed the whole
night through,
Till morning found him come into a Country,
Where
none his bad face knew.
Past Mountain, River, Forest, River, MountainThat
Thief's lean
shanks sped on,
Till Evening found him knocking at a Dark House,

His breath now well-nigh gone.
There came a little maid and asked his Business;
A Cobbler dwelt
within;
And though she much misliked the Bag he carried,
She led
the Bad Man in.
He bargained with the Cobbler for a lodging
And soft laid down his
SackIn
the Dead of Night, with none to spy or listenFrom
off his
weary back.
And he taught the little Chicks to call him Father,
And he sold his

stolen Pelf,
And bought a Palace, Horses, Slaves, and Peacocks
To
ease his wicked self.
And though the Children never really loved him,
He was rich past all
belief;
While Robin and his Dame o'er Delf and Pewter
Spent all
their Days in Grief.
PLACES AND PEOPLE
A WIDOW'S WEEDS
A poor old Widow in her weeds
Sowed her garden with wild-flower
seeds;
Not too shallow, and not too deep,
And down came April --
drip -- drip -- drip.
Up shone May, like gold, and soon
Green as an
arbour grew leafy June.
And now all summer she sits and sews

Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows,
Teasle and pansy,
meadowsweet,
Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit;
Brown bee
orchis, and Peals of Bells;
Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells;

Like Oberon's meadows her garden is
Drowsy from dawn to dusk
with bees.
Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs,
And peeps at her
garden with bright brown eyes;
And all she has is all she needs --
A
poor Old Widow in her weeds.
'SOOEEP!'
Black as a chimney is his face,
And ivory white his teeth,
And in his brass-bound cart he rides,
The chestnut blooms beneath.
'Sooeep, Sooeep!' he cries, and brightly peers
This way and that, to see
With his two light-blue shining eyes
What custom there may be.

And once inside the house, he'll squat,
And drive his rods on high,
Till twirls his sudden sooty brush
Against the morning sky.
Then, 'mid his bulging bags of soot,
With half the world asleep,
His small cart wheels him off again,
Still hoarsely bawling, 'Sooeep!'
MRS. MACQUEEN (OR THE LOLLIE-SHOP)
With glass like a bull's-eye,
And shutters of green,
Down on the
cobbles
Lives Mrs. MacQueen,
At six she rises;
At nine you see
Her candle shine out
In the
linden tree:
And at half-past nine
Not a sound is nigh
But the bright moon's
creeping
Across the sky;
Or a far dog baying;
Or a twittering bird
In its drowsy nest,
In the
darkness stirred;
Or like the roar
Of a distant sea
A long-drawn S-s-sh
In the linden
tree.
THE LITTLE GREEN ORCHARD
Some one is always sitting there,
In the little green orchard;
Even when the sun is high
In noon's
unclouded sky,
And faintly droning goes
The bee from rose to rose,

Some one in shadow is sitting there

In the little green orchard.
Yes, when the twilight's falling softly
In the little green orchard;
When the grey dew distills
And every
flower-cup fills;
When the last blackbird says,
'What - what!' and
goes her way - ssh!
I have heard voices calling softly
In the little green orchard
Not that I am afraid of being there,
In the little green orchard;
Why, when the moon's been bright,

Shedding her lonesome light,
And moths like ghosties come,
And
the horned snail leaves home:
I've sat there, whispering and listening
there,
In the little green orchard.
Only it's strange to be feeling there,
In the little green orchard;
Whether you paint or draw,
Dig, hammer,
chop or saw;
When you are most alone,
All but the silence gone...

Some one is watching and waiting there,
In the little green orchard.
POOR 'MISS 7'
Lone and alone she lies,
Poor Miss 7,
Five steep flights from the earth,
And one from heaven;
Dark hair and dark brown eyes, -
Not to be
sad she tries,
Still - still it's lonely lies
Poor Miss 7.

One day-long watch hath she,
Poor Miss 7,
Not in some orchard sweet
In April Devon -
Just four blank walls to see,
And dark come
shadowily,
No moon, no stars, ah me!
Poor Miss 7.
And then to wake again,
Poor Miss 7,
To the cold night, to have
Sour physic given;
Out of some dream of pain,
Then strive long
hours in vain
Deep dreamless sleep to gain:
Poor Miss 7.
Yet memory softly sings
Poor Miss 7
Songs full of love and peace
And gladness even;
Clear flowers and tiny wings,
All tender, lovely
things,
Hope to her bosom brings -
Happy Miss 7.
SAM
When Sam goes back in memory,
It is to where the sea
Breaks on
the shingle, emerald-green,
In white foam, endlessly;
He says - with
small brown eye on mine-
'I used to keep awake,
And lean from my
window in the moon,
Watching those billows break.
And half a
million tiny hands,
And eyes, like sparks of frost,
Would dance and
come tumbling into the moon,
On every breaker tossed.
And all
across from star to star,
I've seen the watery sea,
With not a single
ship in sight,
Just ocean there, and