The holy man went forth to war,
But not against the devil. 
He led the maid within for shade,
And treated her most civil.

He gave her cakes, he gave her wine,
He set his best before her;
And then invited her to dine—­
Thenceforth—­with her adorer.

Her little head went round for joy;
She tried to kick the rafter: 
So Kavin was a saint no more,
And happy ever after.

IN THE WAYLAND WILLOWS.

Once I met a soncy maid,
Soncy maid, soncy maid,
Once I met a soncy maid
In the Wayland willows.

All her hair was goldy brown,
Goldy brown, goldy brown,
In the sun a single braid
To her waist hung down.

Honey bees, honey bees,
You are roving fellows! 
Idly went the doxy wind
In the Wayland willows.

There I caught her eye a-dance,
Through the catkins downy. 
“Heigho, Brownie-pate,” said I;
“Heigho,” said my Brownie.

Then I kissed my soncy maid,
Soncy maid, soncy maid,
Kissed and kissed my soncy maid
In the Wayland willows.

Goldy eyes and goldy hair,
And little gypsy bosom,
Chin and lip and shoulder tip,
Blossom after blossom!

Hand in hand and cheek by cheek
All the morning weather! 
How the yellow butterflies
Danced and winked together!

Till the day went down the hill
Where the shadows waded. 
“Heigho, Soncy!” “Heigho, me!”
Then I did as day did.

All her tousled beauty bright
And teasing as before,
I left her there in sweet despair,
A soncy maid no more.

WHEN I WAS TWENTY.

It was June, and I was twenty. 
All my wisdom, poor but plenty,
Never learned Festina lente.
Youth is gone, but whither went he?

Madeline came down the orchard
With a mischief in her eye,
Half demure and half inviting,
Melting, wayward, wistful, shy.

Four bright eyes that found life lovely,
And forgot to wonder why;
Four warm lips at one love-lesson,
Learned by heart so easily.

We gained something of that knowledge
No man ever yet put by,
But his after days of sorrow
Left him nothing but to die.

Madeline went up the orchard,
Down the hurrying world went I;
Now I know love has no morrow,
Happiness no by-and-by.

Youth is gone, but whither went he? 
All my wisdom, poor but plenty,
Never learned Festina lente.
It was June, and I was twenty.

IN A SILENCE

Heart to heart! 
And the stillness of night and the moonlight, like hushed breathing
Silently, stealthily moving across thy hair!

O womanly face! 
Tender and strong and lucent with infinite feeling,
Shrinking with startled joy, like wind-struck water,
And yet so frank, so unashamed of love!