 | The Poems of John Clare |  |
THE GIDDY MAID
She runs away and gathers up her gownAnd does her jobs and gallops down the town;
She runs about so giddy all the day
She loses half her errands by the way,
And Goody tells her, when from work she steals,
Her random head will never save her heels.
Yet beauty's ever with her in the race,
And health and laughter ever in her face.
The stranger oft another book bestows
And thinks her prettier than the maids he knows.
Her cheeks so full of health are never white,
Save once upon the harvest-supper night
When she to fright the lad who loved her most
Burnt brandy on a plate to act the ghost.
| The Poems of John Clare | |