You hearken to the lover’s say,
And happy is the lover.
‘Tis late to hearken, late to smile,
But better late than never;
I shall have lived a little while
Before I die for ever.
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The half-moon westers low, my love,
And wide apart lie we, my love,And seas between the twain.I know not if it rains, my love,In the land where you do lie;And oh, so sound you sleep, my love,You know no more than I.
In summertime on Bredon
Round both the shires they ring themIn steeples far and near,A happy noise to hear.Here of a Sunday morningMy love and I would lie,And see the coloured counties,And hear the larks so highAbout us in the sky.The bells would ring to call herIn valleys miles away:‘Come all to church, good people;Good people, come and pray.But…
The sloe was lost in flower,
That was the lover’s hour,The hour for lies and him.If thorns are all the bower,If north winds freeze the fir,Why, ’tis another’s hour,The hour for truth and her.
The time you won your town the race
Man and boy stood cheering by,And home we brought you shoulder-high.To-day, the road all runners come,Shoulder-high we bring you home,And set you at your threshold down,Townsman of a stiller town.Smart lad, to slip betimes awayFrom fields where glory does not stayAnd early though the laurel growsIt withers quicker than the rose.Eyes the shady night has…
He would not stay for me, and who can wonder?
I shook his hand, and tore my heart in sunder,And went with half my life about my ways.
When smoke stood up from Ludlow,
And blithe afield to ploughingAgainst the morning beamI strode beside my team,The blackbird in the coppiceLooked out to see me stride,And hearkened as I whistledThe trampling team beside,And fluted and replied:‘Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;What use to rise and rise?Rise man a thousand morningsYet down at last he lies,And then the man is wise.’I…