 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
WASHING THE SHEEP.
“Oh, Jesse, go and wash the sheep—
The hills are white with May,
The mossy brook is brimming full—
'T is shearing time to-day.
And I will bring my spinning-wheel,
And tie the bands anew,
And when to-night, the lilac buds
Break open with the dew,
I'll come and meet you, as I used,
The summer eves ago,
When first you loved me, Jesse dear—
Or when you told me so.”
The hills are white with May,
The mossy brook is brimming full—
'T is shearing time to-day.
And I will bring my spinning-wheel,
And tie the bands anew,
And when to-night, the lilac buds
Break open with the dew,
I'll come and meet you, as I used,
The summer eves ago,
When first you loved me, Jesse dear—
Or when you told me so.”
'T was Emily, the fair young wife
Of Jesse thus who spake;
And, kissing her, he straight became
A shepherd for her sake.
She heard him singing to the sheep,
Across the hills, all day,
As one by one he plunged them in
The rainy brook of May.
But ere the eve, the shadows fell,
The sun in clouds was gone,
And dreary through the western woods,
The windy night came on.
Of Jesse thus who spake;
And, kissing her, he straight became
A shepherd for her sake.
She heard him singing to the sheep,
Across the hills, all day,
247
The rainy brook of May.
But ere the eve, the shadows fell,
The sun in clouds was gone,
And dreary through the western woods,
The windy night came on.
Her gold curls beaten straight beneath
The rain that wildly drove,
Sad Emily along the hills
Went calling to her love;
And calling by the brooks of May,
The grassy brooks o'erfull,
What sees she 'mid the new-washed lambs,
Gleam whiter than their wool?
Oh never winter frost, nor ice,
So filled her heart with dread;
And never kissed she living love
As then she kissed the dead!
The rain that wildly drove,
Sad Emily along the hills
Went calling to her love;
And calling by the brooks of May,
The grassy brooks o'erfull,
What sees she 'mid the new-washed lambs,
Gleam whiter than their wool?
Oh never winter frost, nor ice,
So filled her heart with dread;
And never kissed she living love
As then she kissed the dead!
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |