 | Dirge for Aoine and other poems |  |
ix
THREE MAIDS
We three went out together—
Margery, Maud and I,
In April's last soft weather,
Ere the May dawn drew nigh.
We washed our faces in may-dew,
And saw the moon fade in the blue
Waste highlands of the sky.
Margery, Maud and I,
In April's last soft weather,
Ere the May dawn drew nigh.
We washed our faces in may-dew,
And saw the moon fade in the blue
Waste highlands of the sky.
We maids went out a-maying,
To seek what we could find,
And fairy pipes were playing
Before us and behind.
We could not see the Pixy-folk,
Or hear the mocking words they spoke,
For blowing of the wind.
To seek what we could find,
And fairy pipes were playing
Before us and behind.
We could not see the Pixy-folk,
Or hear the mocking words they spoke,
For blowing of the wind.
Maud found a black lamb straying,
And took the sheep-fold way.
Margery went a-maying,
Sullen, but came back gay
Because she found an amber comb.
She took a fairy treasure home;
I only brought home may.
And took the sheep-fold way.
Margery went a-maying,
Sullen, but came back gay
Because she found an amber comb.
She took a fairy treasure home;
I only brought home may.
When in her yellow tresses
The amber comb we see,
Wives curse, and no man blesses
This maid called Margery.
Her beauty is a hunter's snare;
Men's souls are netted in her hair
And cannot come forth free.
The amber comb we see,
x
This maid called Margery.
Her beauty is a hunter's snare;
Men's souls are netted in her hair
And cannot come forth free.
We three heard Pixies blowing
Their pipes. Two of the three
Can hear the long grass growing,
The winter wind can see.
Maud's in her grave, nor cares nor knows
Whether the stray lamb comes or goes,
And I am as a folded rose
Till a Pixy gather me.
Their pipes. Two of the three
Can hear the long grass growing,
The winter wind can see.
Maud's in her grave, nor cares nor knows
Whether the stray lamb comes or goes,
And I am as a folded rose
Till a Pixy gather me.
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