Growing straight and frail,
Lady Daffadowndilly.
In a golden crown,
And a scant green gown
While the spring blows chilly,
Lady Daffadown,
Sweet Daffadowndilly.
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Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow loss,And yet not weep?Not so those women lovedWho with exceeding grief lamented Thee;Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;Not so the thief was moved;Not so the Sun and MoonWhich hid their faces in a starless sky,A horror of great darkness at broad noon–I, only I.Yet give not o’er,But…
My baby has a mottled fist,
My baby kisses and is kissed,For he’s the very thing for kisses.
I
Tho’ for its sake my future is a blank;My past, for which I have myself to thank,For all its faults and follies first and last.I would not cast anew the lot once cast,Or launch a second ship for one that sank,Or drug with sweets the bitterness I drank,Or break by feasting my perpetual fast.I would…
‘Oh whence do you come, my dear friend, to me,
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What does the goose mean by a hiss?Oh, Nurse, if you can tell me this,I’ll give you such a kiss.The cockatoo calls ‘cockatoo,’The magpie chatters ‘how d’ye do?’The jackdaw bids me ‘go away,’Cuckoo cries ‘cuckoo’ half the day:What do the others say?