• ‘Tell me though, my mother my dear,
• What's the knocking that I hear?’

• ‘Daughter, it's the carpenter
• Mending planks upon the stair.’

• ‘Tell me too, my mother my dear,
• 20 What's the singing that I hear?’

• ‘Daughter, it's the priests in rows
• Going round about our house.’

• ‘Tell me then, my mother my dear,
• What's the dress that I should wear?’

• ‘Daughter, any reds or blues,
• But the black is most in use.’

• ‘Nay, but say, my mother my dear,
• Why do you fall weeping here?’

• ‘Oh! the truth must be said,—
• 30 It's that John of Tours is dead.’

• ‘Mother, let the sexton know
• That the grave must be for two;

• ‘Aye, and still have room to spare,
• For you must shut the baby there.’

   

• Inside my father's close,
• (Fly away O my heart away!)
• Sweet apple-blossom blows
• So sweet.

• Three kings' daughters fair,
• (Fly away O my heart away!)
• They lie below it there
• So sweet.

• ‘Ah!’ says the eldest one,
• 10 (Fly away O my heart away!)
• ‘I think the day's begun
• So sweet.’

• ‘Ah!’ says the second one,
• (Fly away O my heart away!)
• ‘Far off I hear the drum
• So sweet.’

• ‘Ah!’ says the youngest one,
• (Fly away O my heart away!)
• ‘It's my true love, my own,
• 20 So sweet.

• ‘Oh! if he fight and win,’
• (Fly away O my heart away!)
• ‘I keep my love for him,
• So sweet:
• Oh! let him lose or win,
• He hath it still complete.’

   

• I.
• Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost
• bough,
• A-top on the topmost twig,—which the pluckers forgot,
• somehow,—
• Forgot it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it
• till now.

• II.
• Like the wild hyacinth flower which on the hills is
• found,
• Which the passing feet of the shepherds for ever tear
• and wound,
• Until the purple blossom is trodden into the ground.

       

• My young lord's the lover
• Of earth and sky above,
• Of youth's sway and youth's play,
• Of songs and flowers and love.

   

• Yet for love's desire
• Green youth lacks the daring;
• Though one dream of fire,
• All his hours ensnaring,
• Burns the boy past bearing,—
• 10 The dream that girls inspire.

• My young lord's the lover
• Of every burning thought
• That Love's will, that Love's skill
• Within his breast has wrought.

• Lovely girl, look on him ,
• Soft as music's measure;
• Yield him, when you've won him,
• Joys and toys at pleasure;
• But to win your treasure,
• 20 Softly look upon him.

• My young lord's the lover
• Of every tender grace
• That woman, to woo man,
• Can wear in form or face.

• Take him to your bosom
• Now, girl, or never;
• Let not your new blossom
• Of sweet kisses sever;
• Only guard for ever
• 30 Your boast within your bosom.

• My young lord's the lover
• Of every secret thing,
• Love-hidden, love-bidden
• This day to banqueting.

• Lovely girl, with vaunting
• Never tempt to-morrow:
• From all shapes enchanting
• Any joy can borrow,
• Still the spectre Sorrow
• 40 Rises up for haunting.

• And now my lord's the lover
• Of ah! so many a sweet,—
• Of roses, of spouses,
• As many as love may greet.

   

• ‘Torn from your parent bough,
• Poor leaf all withered now,
• Where go you?’ ‘I cannot tell.
• Storm-stricken is the oak-tree
• Where I grew, whence I fell.
• Changeful continually,
• The zephyr and hurricane
• Since that day bid me flee
• From deepest woods to the lea,
• 10 From highest hills to the plain.
• Where the wind carries me
• I go without fear or grief:
• I go whither each one goes,—
• Thither the leaf of the rose
• And thither the laurel-leaf.’

   

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• When I made answer, I began: ‘Alas!
• How many sweet thoughts and how much desire
• Led these two onward to the dolorous pass!’
• Then turned to them, as who would fain inquire,
• And said: ‘Francesca, these thine agonies
• Wring tears for pity and grief that they inspire:
• But tell me,—in the season of sweet sighs,
• When and what way did Love instruct you so
• That he in your vague longings made you wise?
• 10 Then she to me: ‘There is no greater woe
• Than the remembrance brings of happy days
• In misery; and this thy guide doth know.
• But if the first beginnings to retrace
• Of our sad love can yield thee solace here,
• So will I be as one that weeps and says.
• One day we read, for pastime and sweet cheer,
page: 298  
• Of Lancelot, how he found Love tyrannous:
• We were alone and without any fear.
• Our eyes were drawn together, reading thus,
• 20 Full oft, and still our cheeks would pale and glow;
• But one sole point it was that conquered us.
• For when we read of that great lover, how
• He kissed the smile which he had longed to win,—
• Then he whom nought can sever from me now
• For ever, kissed my mouth, all quivering.
• A Galahalt was the book, and he that writ:
• Upon that day we read no more therein.’
• At the tale told, while one soul uttered it,
• The other wept: a pang so pitiable
• 30 That I was seized, like death, in swooning-fit,
• And even as a dead body falls, I fell.

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