The Solitary, and other poems With The Cavalier, a play. By Charles Whitehead |
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 | The Solitary, and other poems |  |
“But that is forty years agone:
And songs and light hearts go together,
Like June, and flowers, and fair weather.”
Kirke rubb'd his palms until they shone;
“And what though forty years be gone?
I know a thing, an old, old thing,
Which my good grandam wont to sing
The while she spun, and taught to me,
Standing no higher than her knee.
Could I recal it!—aye, 'tis so.”
With this, Kirke heaves a painful throe,
And from his long-drawn, crowing throat,
Sets his strange melody afloat,
Words link'd to it by stubborn rote:—
And songs and light hearts go together,
Like June, and flowers, and fair weather.”
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“And what though forty years be gone?
I know a thing, an old, old thing,
Which my good grandam wont to sing
The while she spun, and taught to me,
Standing no higher than her knee.
Could I recal it!—aye, 'tis so.”
With this, Kirke heaves a painful throe,
And from his long-drawn, crowing throat,
Sets his strange melody afloat,
Words link'd to it by stubborn rote:—
| The Solitary, and other poems | |