MISTRESS FELL

“Whom seek you here, sweet Mistress Fell?”

“One who loved me passing well.

Dark his eye, wild his face —

Stranger, if in this lonely place

Bide such an one, then, prythee, say

I am come here to-day.”

“Many his like, Mistress Fell?”

“I did not look, so cannot tell.

Only this I surely know,

When his voice called me, I must go;

Touched me his fingers, and my heart

Leapt at the sweet pain's smart.”

“Why did he leave you, Mistress Fell?”

“Magic laid its dreary spell.—

Stranger, he was fast asleep;

Into his dream I tried to creep;

Called his name, soft was my cry;

He answered — not one sigh.

“The flower and the thorn are here;

Falleth the night-dew, cold and clear;

Out of her bower the bird replies,

Mocking the dark with ecstasies,

See how the earth's green grass doth grow,

Praising what sleeps below!

“Thus have they told me. And I come,

As flies the wounded wild-bird home.

Not tears I give; but all that he

Clasped in his arms, sweet charity;

All that he loved — to him I bring

For a close whispering.”