Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/66

Rh “My daughter,” said the gipsy, “he'll clothe you all in white, And set you for your riding a palfrey black as night; Upon your hair so yellow, a jewelled crown shall shine, And gold shall be your wine cup and ruby red your wine.”

“My throne it is the mountain, my wine the running streams. Such things as power and glory are only sweet in dreams; Good mother,” said the maiden, “I pray you let me go, For I must gather brambles, the berry and the sloe.

“You meet me but with laughter, a beggar maid am I, Who have no greater kingdom than bird that wings the sky; But like him I go singing who have no wealth to care: None comes her way to envy whose treasure-house is bare.”

And as she spoke a horn blast came ringing through the wood, She raised her leafy burden—a timid moment stood; “Hush, 'tis the King Cophetua, a-hunting he doth go— And I must gather berries, the hazel-nut and sloe.”