FullReads

Tho’ I was young and full of play,
As full as a kitten,
I knew to reckon to a day
When his heart was smitten.
You’ll pick my logic all to holes,
But here’s my wonder:
It is that God should knit two souls,
And men tear them asunder.

For we were knit, no doubt of it,
I as well as he;
I peered in glass, my eyes were lit
After he’d lookt at me.
I knew not why my heart was glad,
Or why it leapt, but so ’tis,
The sharpest, sweetest pang I’ve had
Was when he took notice.

And ’tis not favour makes a lad
To a girl’s mind,
But ’tis himself makes good of bad,
Or her stone-blind.
And men may cheer at tales of wars,
But every girl knows
What makes her eyes to shine like stars
And her face a rose.

iii

No word he said, but turned his head
After he’d lookt at me;
I coloured up a burning red,
Setting the cloth for tea.
The board was spread with cakes and bread
For farmer in his sleeves,
For mistress and the shepherd Ted;
They talkt of hogs and theaves–

But nothing ate I where I sat,
So bashful as I was,
But kept my eyes upon my plate
And pray’d the minutes pass.
Tic-toc, tic-toc from great old clock,
The long hand did creep;
And every stroke in my heart woke
Nature out of her sleep.

So once, they tell, did Gabriel
Name a young Maid
For honour and a miracle,
And few words she said;
But things have changed a wondrous deal
Since she was nam’d,
If to her room she did not steal
As if she were asham’d;

And there upon her bed to sit
Astare, as I guess,
Watching her fingers weave and knit,
Bedded in her dress,
A-thinking thoughts in her young mind
Too wild for tears to gain,
As when the roaring North-West wind
Gives no time to the rain.

iv

Give thanks, you maids, that there’s your work
To keep your heart and head
From thoughts that lurk in them who shirk
Their daily round to tread.
But she goes bold who feels the hold
And colour of her love
Laid on her task like water-gold
From the lit sky above.

v

I rose with early morning light,
The meadows grey with rime,
To set the kitchen fire, and dight
The room for breakfast-time;
Or make the beds, or rinse and scour,
And all the while
A singing heart, a face aflower,
And secret smile.

So ’twas with me week in, week out,
And no more to be said;
A moment’s look, a hint of doubt,
A half-turn of the head.
I had my hands as full as full,
And full of work was he–
But I learn’d in another school
After he’d lookt at me.

vi

In summer time of flowers and bees
And flies on the pane,
Before the sun could gild the trees
Or set afire the vane,
Down I must go upon my knees,
Or ply the showering mop;
Then feed the chicken, ducks and geese,
And milk the last drop.

On winter mornings dark and hard,
White from aching bed,
There were the huddled fowls in yard
All to be fed.
My frozen breath stream’d from my lips,
The cows were hid in steam;
I lost sense of my finger-tips
And milkt in a dream.