 | Poems By Jean Ingelow: Third Series |  |
Touch the sweet string. Fly forth, my heart,
Upon the music like a bird;
The silvery notes shall add their part,
And haply yet thou shalt be heard.
Touch the sweet string.
Upon the music like a bird;
The silvery notes shall add their part,
And haply yet thou shalt be heard.
Touch the sweet string.
The youngest wren of nine
Dimpled, dark, and merry,
Brown her locks, and her two eyne
Browner than a berry.
Dimpled, dark, and merry,
Brown her locks, and her two eyne
Browner than a berry.
When I was not in love
Maidens met I many;
Under sun now walks but one,
Nor others mark I any.
Maidens met I many;
Under sun now walks but one,
Nor others mark I any.
Twin lambs, a mild-eyed ewe,
That would her follow bleating,
A heifer white as snow
I'll give to my sweet sweeting.
That would her follow bleating,
A heifer white as snow
I'll give to my sweet sweeting.
65
Touch the sweet string. If yet too young,
O love of loves, for this my song,
I'll pray thee count it all unsung,
And wait thy leisure, wait it long.
Touch the sweet string.
[Much applause.
O love of loves, for this my song,
I'll pray thee count it all unsung,
And wait thy leisure, wait it long.
Touch the sweet string.
Vicar.
You hear them, Sam. You needs must play again,
Your neighbours ask it.
Fiddler.
Thank ye, neighbours all,
I have my feelings though I be but poor;
I've tanged the fiddle here this forty year,
And I should know the trick on 't.
The fiddler plays, and his daughter sings.
| Poems By Jean Ingelow: Third Series | |