Of Three Children
OF THREE CHILDREN CHOOSING
A CHAPLET OF VERSE
You and I and Burd so blithe—
Burd so blithe, and you, and I—
The Mower he would whet his scythe
Before the dew was dry.
And he woke soon, but we woke soon
And drew the nursery blind,
All wondering at the waning moon
With the small June roses twined:
Low in her cradle swung the moon
With an elfin dawn behind.
In whispers, while our elders slept,
We knelt and said our prayers,
And dress'd us and on tiptoe crept
Adown the creaking stairs.
The world's possessors lay abed,
And all the world was ours—
'Nay, nay, but hark! the Mower's tread!
And we must save the flowers!'
The Mower knew not rest nor haste—
That old unweary man:
But we were young. We paused and raced
And gather'd while we ran.
O youth is careless, youth is fleet,
With heart and wing of bird!
The lark flew up beneath our feet,
To his copse the pheasant whirr'd;
The cattle from their darkling lairs
Heaved up and stretch'd themselves;
Almost they trod at unawares
Upon the busy elves
That dropp'd their spools of gossamer,
To dangle and to dry,
[...] Read more
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
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