 | The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems |  |
49
BARBARA.
Barbara hath a falcon's eye,
And a soft white hand hath Barbara;
Beware—for to make you wish to die,
To make you as pale as the moon or I,
Is a pet trick with Barbara!
And a soft white hand hath Barbara;
Beware—for to make you wish to die,
To make you as pale as the moon or I,
Is a pet trick with Barbara!
Merrily bloweth the summer wind,
But cold and cruel is Barbara!
And I, a Duke, stand here like a hind,
Too happy, i' faith, if I am struck blind
By the quick look of Barbara!
But cold and cruel is Barbara!
And I, a Duke, stand here like a hind,
Too happy, i' faith, if I am struck blind
By the quick look of Barbara!
Ay, Sweetmou', you are haughty now:
Time was, time was, my Barbara,
When I covered your lips and brow
And bosom with kisses—faith, 'tis snow
That was all fire then, Barbara!
Time was, time was, my Barbara,
When I covered your lips and brow
And bosom with kisses—faith, 'tis snow
That was all fire then, Barbara!
50
For whom shall you hold Agatha's ring?
Whom will you love next, Barbara?
Choose from the Court—your page or the King?
Or one of those sleek-limbed fellows who bring
Rose-colored notes ‘For Barbara?’
Whom will you love next, Barbara?
Choose from the Court—your page or the King?
Or one of those sleek-limbed fellows who bring
Rose-colored notes ‘For Barbara?’
Love the King, by all that is good!
Make eyes at him, sing to him, Barbara!
I think you might please his royal mood
For a month, and then—what then if he should
Fling you aside, Queen Barbara?
Make eyes at him, sing to him, Barbara!
I think you might please his royal mood
For a month, and then—what then if he should
Fling you aside, Queen Barbara?
You might die out there on the moor,
(Where Rouel died for you, Barbara!)
For the world, you know, sets little store
On beauty, and charity closes the door
On fallen divinity, Barbara!
(Where Rouel died for you, Barbara!)
For the world, you know, sets little store
On beauty, and charity closes the door
On fallen divinity, Barbara!
But if his Majesty grew so cold—
In the dead of night, my Barbara,
I'd go to his chamber, Hate is bold,
And strangle him there in his purple and gold,
And lay him beside you, Barbara!
In the dead of night, my Barbara,
I'd go to his chamber, Hate is bold,
And strangle him there in his purple and gold,
And lay him beside you, Barbara!
| The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems | |