Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/152

 bird! thou liest—speak the truth,

Or hide in shame thy head—

For though 'tis true I love a youth,

I am not pale, but red.

bird thou liest—I will go

And stop thy chattering wholly;

A gun across my shoulder throw,

And shoot thee for thy folly.

maid was reaping on the mead,

There came a knight on knightly steed—

It was no knight—no knight, in truth,

It was her own beloved youth.

is the lovely rosemary,

Sweet maiden! glad and joyful be!

From war's alarms thy youth shall rest:

Why sink thine eyes upon thy breast?