Obrazy na stronie

Before I am quite quite sure

That there is one to love me;

Then let come what come may

To a life that has been so sad,

I shall have had my day.




BIRDS in the high Hall-garden

When twilight was falling,

Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud,

They were crying and calling.


Where was Maud ? in our wood;

And I, who else, was with her,

Gathering woodland lilies,

Myriads blow together.


Birds in our wood sang

Ringing thro' the vallies,

Maud is here, here, here

In among the lilies.


I kiss'd her slender hand,

She took the kiss sedately;

Maud is not seventeen,

But she is tall and stately.


I to cry out on pride

Who have won her favour!

O Maud were sure of Heaven

If lowliness could save her.


I know the way she went

Home with her maiden posy,

For her feet have touch'd the meadows

And left the daisies rosy.


Birds in the high Hall-garden

Were crying and calling to her, Where is Maud, Maud, Maud,

One is come to woo her.


Look, a horse at the door,

And little King Charles is snarling,

Go back, my lord, across the moor,

You are not her darling.



SCORN'D, to be scorn'd by one that I scorn,

Is that a matter to make me fret ?

That a calamity hard to be borne ?
Well, he may live to hate me yet.
Fool that I am to be vext with his pride !
I past him, I was crossing his lands;
He stood on the path a little aside ;
His face, as I grant, in spite of spite,
Has a broad-blown comeliness, red and white,

And six feet two, as I think, he stands ;

But his essences turn'd the live air sick,
And barbarous opulence jewel-thick

Sunn'd itself on his breast and his hands.

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