Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/281

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 In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles, By bards who died content on pleasant sward, Leaving great verse unto a little clan? O, give me their old vigor, and unheard Save of the quiet Primrose, and the span Of heaven and few ears, Rounded by thee, my song should die away Content as theirs, Rich in the simple worship of a day.

 

Meg she was a gipsy,
 * And lived upon the moors:

Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
 * And her house was out of doors.

Her apples were swart blackberries,
 * Her currants, pods o' broom;

Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
 * Her book a churchyard tomb.

Her brothers were the craggy hills.
 * Her sisters larchen trees;

Alone with her great family
 * She lived as she did please.

No breakfast had she many a morn,
 * No dinner many a noon.

And, 'stead of supper, she would stare
 * Full hard against the moon.

