MY LADY OF CASTLE GRAND

  Gray is the palace where she dwells,
    Grimly the poplars stand
  There by the window where she sits,
    My Lady of Castle Grand.

  There does she bide the livelong day,
    Grim as the poplars are,
  Ever her gaze goes reaching out,
    Steady, but vague and far.

  Bright burn the fires in the castle hall,
    Brightly the fire-dogs stand;
  But cold is the body and cold the heart
    Of my Lady of Castle Grand.

  Blue are the veins in her lily-white hands,
    Blue are the veins in her brow;
  Thin is the line of her blue drawn lips,
    Who would be haughty now?

  Pale is the face at the window-pane,
    Pale as the pearl on her breast,
  “Roderick, love, wilt come again? 
    Fares he to east or west?”

  The shepherd pipes to the shepherdess,
    The bird to his mate in the tree,
  And ever she sighs as she hears their song,
    “Nobody sings for me.”

  The scullery maids have swains enow
    Who lead them the way of love,
  But lonely and loveless their mistress sits
    At her window up above.

  Loveless and lonely she waits and waits,
    The saddest in all the land;
  Ah, cruel and lasting is love-blind pride,
    My Lady of Castle Grand.

DRIZZLE

  Hit ‘s been drizzlin’ an’ been sprinklin’,
    Kin’ o’ techy all day long. 
  I ain’t wet enough fu’ toddy,
    I ’s too damp to raise a song,
  An’ de case have set me t’inkin’,
    Dat dey ’s folk des lak de rain,
  Dat goes drizzlin’ w’en dey’s talkin’,
    An’ won’t speak out flat an’ plain.

  Ain’t you nevah set an’ listened
    At a body ‘splain his min’? 
  W’en de t’oughts dey keep on drappin’
    Was n’t big enough to fin’? 
  Dem ‘s whut I call drizzlin’ people,
    Othahs call ’em mealy mouf,
  But de fust name hits me bettah,
    Case dey nevah tech a drouf.

  Dey kin talk from hyeah to yandah,
    An’ f’om yandah hyeah ergain,
  An’ dey don’ mek no mo’ ’pression,
    Den dis powd’ry kin’ o’ rain. 
  En yo’ min’ is dry ez cindahs,
    Er a piece o’ kindlin’ wood,
  ‘T ain’t no use a-talkin’ to ’em,
    Fu’ dey drizzle ain’t no good.

  Gimme folks dat speak out nachul,
    Whut ’ll say des whut dey mean,
  Whut don’t set dey wo’ds so skimpy
    Dat you got to guess between. 
  I want talk des’ lak de showahs
    Whut kin wash de dust erway,
  Not dat sprinklin’ convusation,
    Dat des drizzle all de day.

DE CRITTERS’ DANCE

  Ain’t nobody nevah tol’ you not a wo’d a-tall,
  ’Bout de time dat all de critters gin dey fancy ball? 
  Some folks tell it in a sto’y, some folks sing de rhyme,
  ’Peahs to me you ought to hyeahed it, case hit ‘s ol’ ez time.