She comes with tripping pace,—

A maid I know,—and March winds blow

Her hair across her face;—

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

The March winds blow. I watch her go:
Her eye is brown and clear;

Her cheek is brown, and soft as down,

(To those who see it near!)—

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

What has she not that those have got,

The dames that walk in silk!

If she undo her kerchief blue,

Her neck is white as milk.

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

Let those who will be proud and chill!
For me, from June to June,
My Dolly's words are sweet as curds-

Her laugh is like a tune;

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,
Or blooms the eglantine.

Break, break to hear, O crocus-spear!

O tall Lent-lilies flame!

There'll be a bride at Easter-tide,

And Dolly is her name.

With a hey, Dolly! ho, Dolly!

Dolly shall be mine,

Before the spray is white with May,

Or blooms the eglantine.

SONG

Austin Dobson [1840

THIS peach is pink with such a pink
As suits the peach divinely;
The cunning color rarely spread
Fades to the yellow finely;

But where to spy the truest pink
Is in my Love's soft cheek, I think.

The snowdrop, child of windy March,
Doth glory in her whiteness;
Her golden neighbors, crocuses,

Unenvious praise her brightness!
But I do know where, out of sight,
My sweetheart keeps a warmer white.

Norman Gale [1862

IN FEBRUARY

My Lady's birthday crowns the growing year;
A flower of Spring before the Spring is here;
To sing of her and this fair day to keep
The very Loves forsake their Winter sleep;
Where'er she goes their circling wings they spread,
And shower celestial roses o'er her head.

I, too, would chant her worth and dare to raise

A hymn to what's beyond immortal praise.

Go, little verse, and lay in vesture meet

Of poesy, my homage at her feet.

Henry Simpson [1868

Ballade of My Lady's Beauty

MY LOVE

LIKE rain-pools over Autumn leaves,
My sweet Love's eyes to me;
Like sunlight over golden sheaves,
Her wind-blown tresses free:
Like snow upon the mountain's face,

The whiteness of her throat;

Her movements of the languorous grace
Of lilies all afloat.

Her voice is sweet as silver bells

O'er sheets of moonlit snow;

Her mouth, a full ripe flower, where dwells

The sunset's vermeil glow:

Her soul is tender as blue skies

A Southern day above;

While in her heart all priceless lies

The diamond of her love.

Robert Adger Bowen [1868

BALLADE OF MY LADY'S BEAUTY

SQUIRE ADAM had two wives, they say,
Two wives had he for his delight;

He kissed and clypt them all the day,
And clypt and kissed them all the night.
Now Eve like ocean foam was white,

And Lilith, roses dipped in wine,

But though they were a goodly sight,

No lady is so fair as mine.

To Venus some folk tribute pay,

And Queen of Beauty she is hight, And Sainte Marie the world doth sway, In cerule napery bedight.

My wonderment these twain invite,

Their comeliness it is divine;

And yet I say in their despite,

No lady is so fair as mine.

557

Dame Helen caused a grievous fray,
For love of her brave men did fight,
The eyes of her made sages fey

And put their hearts in woeful plight.
To her no rhymes will I indite,

For her no garlands will I twine;

Though she be made of flowers and light, No lady is so fair as mine.

L'ENVOI

Prince Eros, Lord of lovely might,

Who on Olympus doth recline,
Do I not tell the truth aright?

No lady is so fair as mine.

URSULA

Joyce Kilmer [1886–

I SEE her in the festal warmth to-night,
Her rest all grace, her motion all delight.
Endowed with all the woman's arts that please,
In her soft gown she seems a thing of ease,
Whom sorrow may not reach or evil blight.

To-morrow she will toil from floor to floor
To smile upon the unreplying poor,
To stay the tears of widows, and to be
Confessor to men's erring hearts . . . ah me!
She knows not I am beggar at her door.

Robert Underwood Johnson [1853

VILLANELLE OF HIS LADY'S TREASURE

I TOOK her dainty eyes, as well

As silken tendrils of her hair:

And so I made a Villanelle!

I took her voice, a silver bell,

As clear as song, as soft as prayer;

I took her dainty eyes as we

Song

It may be, said I, who can tell,

These things shall be my less despair?

And so I made a Villanelle!

I took her whiteness virginal

And from her cheeks two roses rare:

I took her dainty eyes as well.

I said: "It may be possible

Her image from my heart to tear!"

And so I made a Villanelle!

I stole her laugh, most musical:

I wrought it in with artful care;

I took her dainty eyes as well;

And so I made a Villanelle.

SONG

559

Ernest Dowson [1867-1900]

LOVE, by that loosened hair

Well now I know

Where the lost Lilith went

So long ago.

Love, by those starry eyes

I understand

How the sea maidens lure

Mortals from land.

Love, by that welling laugh

Joy claims his own

Sea-born and wind-wayward

Child of the sun.

Bliss Carman [1861

SONG

O, LIKE a queen's her happy tread,
And like a queen's her golden head!
But O, at last, when all is said,

Her woman's heart for me!