 | Poems |  |
164
XIII
[I talked one midnight with the jolly ghost]
I talked one midnight with the jolly ghost
Of a gray ancestor, Tom Heywood hight;
And, ‘Here 's,’ says he, his old heart liquor-lifted—
‘Here 's how we did when Gloriana shone:’
Of a gray ancestor, Tom Heywood hight;
And, ‘Here 's,’ says he, his old heart liquor-lifted—
‘Here 's how we did when Gloriana shone:’
All in a garden green
Thrushes were singing;
Red rose and white between,
Lilies were springing;
It was the merry May;
Yet sang my Lady:—
‘Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay!
I am not ready.’
Thrushes were singing;
Red rose and white between,
Lilies were springing;
It was the merry May;
Yet sang my Lady:—
‘Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay!
I am not ready.’
Then to a pleasant shade
I did invite her:
All things a concert made,
For to delight her;
Under, the grass was gay;
Yet sang my Lady:—
‘Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay!
I am not ready.’
I did invite her:
All things a concert made,
For to delight her;
Under, the grass was gay;
Yet sang my Lady:—
‘Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay!
I am not ready.’
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