William Shakespeare.

133   Silvia

1564-1616

WHO is Silvia? What is she?
    That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;
    The heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admiràed be.

Is she kind as she is fair?
    For beauty lives with kindness:
Love doth to her eyes repair,
    To help him of his blindness;
And, being help’d, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing,
    That silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
    Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.

134   The Blossom

ON a day—alack the day!—
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind
All unseen ’gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish’d himself the heaven’s breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!

But, alack, my hand is sworn
Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet!
Do not call it sin in me
That I am forsworn for thee;
Thou for whom e’en Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiop were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

135   Spring and Winter

                                                                (i)

WHEN daisies pied and violets blue,
   And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
   Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
                      Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo!—O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
   And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
   And maidens bleach their summer smocks
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
                       Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo!—O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

136   (ii)

WHEN icicles hang by the wall,
   And Dick the shepherd blows his nail.
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
   And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
         To-whit!
To-who!—a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
   And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
   And Marian’s nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
         To-whit!
To-who!—a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel¹ the pot.

137   Fairy Land

                                                               (i)

OVER hill, over dale,
   Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
   Thorough flood, thorough fire,
   I do wander everywhere,
   Swifter than the moonàe’s sphere;
   And I serve the fairy queen,
   To dew her orbs upon the green:
   The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
   In their gold coats spots you see;
   Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours:
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.