Bite at our peaches, Grapes for the asking, Plums on their twigs; Pluck them and suck them,— Pomegranates, figs.' 'Good folk,' said Lizzie, 'Give me much and many:' No man can carry; Half their bloom would fly, Half their flavour would pass by. 'Thank you,' said Lizzie: 'But one waits At home alone for me: So without further parleying, If you will not sell me any Of your fruits though much and many, I tossed you for a fee.' They began to scratch their pates, But visibly demurring, Grunting and snarling. One called her proud, Lashing their tails They trod and hustled her, Clawed with their nails, Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, Held her hands and squeezed their fruits haste And inward laughter. Shaking with aguish fear, and pain, 490 Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of grey, Her breath was sweet as May, She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth. And light danced in her eyes. Her lips began to scorch, Days, weeks, months, years 540 That juice was wormwood to her tongue, She loathed the feast: Afterwards, when both were wives With children of their own; Their lives bound up in tender lives; Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung, Their mother-hearts beset with fears, Rent all her robe, and wrung Laura would call the little ones Of not-returning time: Would talk about the haunted glen, The wicked quaint fruit-merchant men, Their fruits like honey to the throat But poison in the blood (Men sell not such in any town): Would tell them how her sister stood Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked In deadly peril to do her good, 550 560 While, when you come not, what I do I do For one man is my world of all the men 2 I wish I could remember that first day, A day of days! I let it come and go May not the darkness hide it from my face? Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? They will not keep you standing at that door. Will there be beds for me and all who seek? WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) THE GILLIFLOWER OF GOLD. I wore upon my helm alway, Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.1 It seemed to mean so little, meant so much; know! 11 Many in aftertimes will say of you From John's steel-coat, my eye was true; 'He loved her '-while of me what will they Yea, do not doubt my heart was good, Of love and parting in exceeding pain, UP-HILL Does the road wind up-hill all the way? Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée. My hand was steady, too, to take When I stood in my tent again, Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée To hear: "Honneur aux fils des preux!?"" Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée. The Sieur Guillaume against me came, Will the day's journey take the whole long His tabard bore three points of flame day? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place? From a red heart; with little blame Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée 8 16 24 32 |