rners shine.
Mary
There's nothing there inside, mother,
But wool and thread and flax,
And bits of faded silk and velvet,
And candles of white wax.
Mother
What's in that cupboard, Mary?
And this time tell me true.
Mary
White clothes for an unborn baby, mother,
But what's the truth to you?
THE BEACON.
The silent shepherdess,
She of my vows,
Here with me exchanging love
Under dim boughs.
Shines on our mysteries
A sudden spark--
"Dout the candle, glow-worm,
Let all be dark.
"The birds have sung their last notes,
The Sun's to bed,
Glow-worm, dout your candle."
The glow-worm said:
"I also am a lover;
The lamp I display
Is beacon for my true love
Wandering astray.
"Through the thick bushes
And the grass comes she
With a heartload of longing
And love for me.
"Sir, enjoy your fancy,
But spare me harm,
A lover is a lover,
Though but a worm."
POT AND KETTLE.
Come close to me, dear Annie, while I bind a lover's knot.
A tale of burning love between a kettle and a pot.
The pot was stalwart iron and the kettle trusty tin,
And though their sides were black with smoke they bubbled love within.
Forget that kettle, Jamie, and that pot of boiling broth,
I know a dismal story of a candle and a moth.
For while your pot is boiling and while your kettle sings
My moth makes love to candle flame and burns away his wings.
Your moth, I envy, Annie, that died by candle flame,
But here are two more lovers, unto no damage came.
There was a cuckoo loved a clock and found her always true.
For every hour they told their hearts, "Ring! ting! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"
As the pot boiled for the kettle, as the kettle for the pot,
So boils my love within me till my breast is glowing hot.
As the moth died for the candle, so could I die for you.
And my fond heart beats time with yours and cries, "Cuckoo! Cuckoo!"
GHOST RADDLED.
"Come, surly fellow, come! A song!"
What, madmen? Sing to you?
Choose from the clouded tales of wrong
And terror I bring to you.
Of a night so torn with cries,
Honest men sleeping
Start awake with glaring eyes,
Bone-chi
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