Page:Collected poems vol 2 de la mare.djvu/46

 "What must I pay?" she whispered. "Pay!" says he, "Pedlar I am who through this wood to roam, One lock of her hair is gold enough for me, For apple, peach, comfit, or honeycomb!" But from her bough a drowsy squirrel cried, "Trust him not, Lettice, trust, oh trust him not!" And many another woodland tongue beside Rose softly in the silence — "Trust him not!" Then cried the Pedlar in a bitter voice, "What, in the thicket, is this idle noise?" A late, harsh blackbird smote him with her wings, As through the glade, dark in the dim, she flew; Yet still the Pedlar his old burden sings, — "What, pretty sweetheart, shall I show to you? Here's orange ribands, here's a string of pearls, Here's silk of buttercup and pansy glove, A pin of tortoiseshell for windy curls, A box of silver, scented sweet with clove: Come now," he says, with dim and lifted face, "I pass not often such a lonely place."

"Pluck not a hair!" a hidden rabbit cried, "With but one hair he'll steal thy heart away, Then only sorrow shall thy lattice hide: Go in! all honest pedlars come by day." There was dead silence in the drowsy wood; "Here's syrup for to lull sweet maids to sleep;