A Poet's Harvest Home Being One Hundred Short Poems: By William Bell Scott ... With an Aftermath of Twenty Short Poems |
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 | A Poet's Harvest Home |  |
87
II.
Around this sun-dial daughter May
Sometimes holds a holiday;
She is the matron, makes the tea;
The kettle by the gnomon stands:
We think the scene right fair to see,
As all scenes are when love commands.
Sometimes holds a holiday;
She is the matron, makes the tea;
The kettle by the gnomon stands:
We think the scene right fair to see,
As all scenes are when love commands.
I am too old for such a sphere,
Yet comet-like I venture near,
And so, perhaps, I overhear
Their talk of books, or of the play
Our laureate made but yesterday,
In which the Terry speaks a prayer
To great Diana Hecate,
A prayer that makes the bridegroom fear
There's dangerous thunder in the air.
Then daughter May, I do declare,
Repeats comments I made myself,
Yet is not in the least aware
Each word was mine, the innocent elf!
A maiden soul whose heart is free
A crystal globe is, where we see
Prophetic visions flash and fly.
And here's the little boy too, he
Must make himself a pleasantry!
He almost blushes, feels too shy
To sit in that sweet company:
‘I am the only gentleman,’
He said to nurse, and off he ran,
But soon we found him mounted near,
Where hid he could both see and hear:
Already, very strange indeed,
In his small heart is sown Love's seed!
Yet comet-like I venture near,
And so, perhaps, I overhear
Their talk of books, or of the play
Our laureate made but yesterday,
In which the Terry speaks a prayer
To great Diana Hecate,
A prayer that makes the bridegroom fear
There's dangerous thunder in the air.
88
Repeats comments I made myself,
Yet is not in the least aware
Each word was mine, the innocent elf!
A maiden soul whose heart is free
A crystal globe is, where we see
Prophetic visions flash and fly.
And here's the little boy too, he
Must make himself a pleasantry!
He almost blushes, feels too shy
To sit in that sweet company:
‘I am the only gentleman,’
He said to nurse, and off he ran,
But soon we found him mounted near,
Where hid he could both see and hear:
Already, very strange indeed,
In his small heart is sown Love's seed!
| A Poet's Harvest Home | |