The Little Man in Green

‘ TWAS a little man in green,

And he sat upon a stone;

And he sat there all alone,

Whispering.

“One and two,” so whispered he.

(‘ Twas an ancient man and hoar )

“One and two,” and then no more —

Never, “Three”.

Hawthorn trees were quick with May —

“Sir,” said I, “Good-day to you”!

But he counted. “One and two”

In strange way.

Fool I was — oh, fool was I

( Who should know the ways of them! )

That I touched his cloak's green hem,

Passing by.

I was fey with spring and mirth —

Speaking him without a thought —

Now is joy a thing forgot

On the earth.

Ere the sweet thorn-buds were through,

Wife and child doom-stricken lay,

Cold as winter, white as spray —

“One and two!”

Now I seek eternally

That grim Counter of the fen,

Praying he may count again —

Counting, “Three”.