 | The pink book |  |
54
THE PIPER.
Where summer drowses all the day,
On a blue hill-top far away,
A shepherd lad, with lips red-ripe,
Lay piping on an oaten pipe;
And made his tunes most lazily,
So steeped in summer sloth was he.
On a blue hill-top far away,
A shepherd lad, with lips red-ripe,
Lay piping on an oaten pipe;
And made his tunes most lazily,
So steeped in summer sloth was he.
The golden sun clomb up the sky,
A wild bee went a-droning by,
A swallow past his hill did skim,
A butterfly flittered over him;
And all he played did sweetly run,
Because he learnt it in the sun.
A wild bee went a-droning by,
A swallow past his hill did skim,
A butterfly flittered over him;
And all he played did sweetly run,
Because he learnt it in the sun.
Through half-closed eyelids, hazily,
He saw the things that round him lay;
The daisy nodding at his side,
The world's ringed ocean, blue and wide,
The cloudlet ships all shining sail,
The misty hills across the vale.
He saw the things that round him lay;
The daisy nodding at his side,
The world's ringed ocean, blue and wide,
The cloudlet ships all shining sail,
The misty hills across the vale.
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And past white vapours looking down,
He saw the spires of the the town,
From fifty towers glittering fair,
And straightway wished to travel there;
Yet went on piping lazily,
So steeped in summer sloth was he.
He saw the spires of the the town,
From fifty towers glittering fair,
And straightway wished to travel there;
Yet went on piping lazily,
So steeped in summer sloth was he.
But when the sun dipped to the west,
Leaving the hilltop and his rest,
Along the dusty dale he strayed,
And ever, as he went, he played
Such notes as seemed the ways to fill
With airs and sunshine from the hill.
Leaving the hilltop and his rest,
Along the dusty dale he strayed,
And ever, as he went, he played
Such notes as seemed the ways to fill
With airs and sunshine from the hill.
He met a maiden fair to see—
“O rosy lad come back with me.”
He met a pedlar sunburnt brown—
“O, shepherd go not to the town.”
And little children from their play
Followed him crying, “Piper, stay!”
“O rosy lad come back with me.”
He met a pedlar sunburnt brown—
“O, shepherd go not to the town.”
And little children from their play
Followed him crying, “Piper, stay!”
His tunes were given up to the wind,
The playful children left behind,
A star danced on the hill's dark ridge
As he went piping over the bridge,
And through the gate-way old and brown
Into the heated noise of the town.
The playful children left behind,
A star danced on the hill's dark ridge
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And through the gate-way old and brown
Into the heated noise of the town.
The night winds scattered the echoes afar,
The hill lay in shadows under its star,
The moon looked forth from her pearly veil
And silence sighed in the dusky dale.
Ah me! There was none to pipe her a strain
For the lad never came to the valley again;
The threshold of the town was crost,
And he and all his tunes were lost.
The hill lay in shadows under its star,
The moon looked forth from her pearly veil
And silence sighed in the dusky dale.
Ah me! There was none to pipe her a strain
For the lad never came to the valley again;
The threshold of the town was crost,
And he and all his tunes were lost.
| The pink book | |