Poems Chiefly from Manuscript Part 20

Willow switches I broke and peeled bits of straws, Ever lonely in crowds, in Nature's own laws-- My ball room the pasture, my music the bees, My drink was the fountain, my church the tall trees.

Who ever would love or be tied to a wife When it makes a man mad all the days of his life?

_The Winter's Come_

Sweet chestnuts brown like soling leather turn; The larch trees, like the colour of the Sun; That paled sky in the Autumn seemed to burn, What a strange scene before us now does run-- Red, brown, and yellow, russet, black, and dun; White thorn, wild cherry, and the poplar bare; The sycamore all withered in the sun.

No leaves are now upon the birch tree there: All now is stript to the cold wintry air.

See, not one tree but what has lost its leaves-- And yet the landscape wears a pleasing hue.

The winter chill on his cold bed receives Foliage which once hung oer the waters blue.

Naked and bare the leafless trees repose.

Blue-headed t.i.tmouse now seeks maggots rare, Sluggish and dull the leaf-strewn river flows; That is not green, which was so through the year Dark chill November draweth to a close.

Tis Winter, and I love to read indoors, When the Moon hangs her crescent up on high; While on the window shutters the wind roars, And storms like furies pa.s.s remorseless by.

How pleasant on a feather bed to lie, Or, sitting by the fire, in fancy soar With Dante or with Milton to regions high, Or read fresh volumes we've not seen before, Or oer old Burton's Melancholy pore.

_Summer Winds_

The wind waves oer the meadows green And shakes my own wild flowers And shifts about the moving scene Like the life of summer hours; The little bents with reedy head, The scarce seen shapes of flowers, All kink about like skeins of thread In these wind-shaken hours.

All stir and strife and life and bustle In everything around one sees; The rushes whistle, sedges rustle, The gra.s.s is buzzing round like bees; The b.u.t.terflies are tossed about Like skiffs upon a stormy sea; The bees are lost amid the rout And drop in [their] perplexity.

Wilt thou be mine, thou bonny la.s.s?

Thy drapery floats so gracefully; We'll walk along the meadow gra.s.s, We'll stand beneath the willow tree.

We'll mark the little reeling bee Along the gra.s.sy ocean rove, Tossed like a little boat at sea, And interchange our vows of love.

_Bonny La.s.sie O!_

O the evening's for the fair, bonny la.s.sie O!

To meet the cooler air and walk an angel there, With the dark dishevelled hair, Bonny la.s.sie O!

The bloom's on the brere, bonny la.s.sie O!

Oak apples on the tree; and wilt thou gang to see The shed I've made for thee, Bonny la.s.sie O!

Tis agen the running brook, bonny la.s.sie O!

In a gra.s.sy nook hard by, with a little patch of sky, And a bush to keep us dry, Bonny la.s.sie O!

There's the daisy all the year, bonny la.s.sie O!

There's the king-cup bright as gold, and the speedwell never cold, And the arum leaves unrolled, Bonny la.s.sie O!

O meet me at the shed, bonny la.s.sie O!

With a woodbine peeping in, and the roses like thy skin Blushing, thy praise to win, Bonny la.s.sie O!

I will meet thee there at e'en, bonny la.s.sie O!

When the bee sips in the bean, and grey willow branches lean, And the moonbeam looks between, Bonny la.s.sie O!

_Meet Me in the Green Glen_

Love, meet me in the green glen, Beside the tall elm tree, Where the sweet briar smells so sweet agen; There come with me, Meet me in the green glen.

Meet me at the sunset Down in the green glen, Where we've often met By hawthorn tree and foxes' den, Meet me in the green glen.

Meet me in the green glen, By sweet briar bushes there; Meet me by your own sen, Where the wild thyme blossoms fair.

Meet me in the green glen.

Meet me by the sweet briar, By the mole hill swelling there; When the West glows like a fire G.o.d's crimson bed is there.

Meet me in the green glen.

_Love Cannot Die_

In crime and enmity they lie Who sin and tell us love can die, Who say to us in slander's breath That love belongs to sin and death.

From heaven it came on angel's wing To bloom on earth, eternal spring; In falsehood's enmity they lie Who sin and tell us love can die.

Twas born upon an angel's breast.

The softest dreams, the sweetest rest, The brightest sun, the bluest sky, Are love's own home and canopy.

The thought that cheers this heart of mine Is that of love; love so divine They sin who say in slander's breath That love belongs to sin and death.

The sweetest voice that lips contain, The sweetest thought that leaves the brain, The sweetest feeling of the heart-- There's pleasure in its very smart.

The scent of rose and cinnamon Is not like love remembered on; In falsehood's enmity they lie Who sin and tell us love can die.

_Peggy_

Peggy said good morning and I said good bye, When farmers dib the corn and laddies sow the rye.

Young Peggy's face was common sense and I was rather shy When I met her in the morning when the farmers sow the rye.

Her half laced boots fit tightly as she tripped along the gra.s.s, And she set her foot so lightly where the early bee doth pa.s.s.

Oh Peggy was a young thing, her face was common sense, I courted her about the spring and loved her ever thence.

Oh Peggy was the young thing and bonny as to size; Her lips were cherries of the spring and hazel were her eyes.

Oh Peggy she was straight and tall as is the poplar tree, Smooth as the freestone of the wall, and very dear to me.

Oh Peggy's gown was chocolate and full of cherries white; I keep a bit on't for her sake and love her day and night.

I drest myself just like a prince and Peggy went to woo, But she's been gone some ten years since, and I know not what to do.

_The Crow Sat on the Willow_

The crow sat on the willow tree A-lifting up his wings, And glossy was his coat to see, And loud the ploughman sings, "I love my love because I know The milkmaid she loves me"; And hoa.r.s.ely croaked the glossy crow Upon the willow tree.

"I love my love" the ploughman sung, And all the fields with music rung.

"I love my love, a bonny la.s.s, She keeps her pails so bright, And blythe she trips the dewy gra.s.s At morning and at night.

A cotton dress her morning gown, Her face was rosy health: She traced the pastures up and down And nature was her wealth."

He sung, and turned each furrow down, His sweetheart's love in cotton gown.