At The Stile

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Title:     At The Stile
Author: Madison Julius Cawein [More Titles by Cawein]

Young Harry leapt over the stile and kissed her,
Over the stile the stars a-winking;
He thought it was Mary--'t was Mary's sister--
And love hath a way of thinking.

"Thy pail, sweetheart, I will take and carry."--
Over the stile the stars hang yellow.--
"Just to the spring, my sweetheart Harry."--
And love is a heartless fellow.

"Thou saidst me yea when the frost did shower
Over the stile from stars a-shiver."--
"I say thee nay now the cherry-trees flower,
And love is taker and giver."

"O false! thou art false to me, sweetheart!"--
Over the stile the stars a-glister.
"To thee, the stars, and myself, sweetheart,
I never was aught save Mary's sister.

"Sweet Mary's sister and thou my Harry,
Her Harry and mine, but mine the weeping:
In a month or twain you two will marry--
And I in my grave be sleeping."

Alone among the meadows of millet,
Over the stile the stars pursuing,
Some tears in her pail as she stoops to fill it--
And love hath a way of doing.

[The end]
Madison Julius Cawein's poem: At The Stile

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