Corydon
A PASTORAL
SCENE: A roadside in Arcady
SHEPHERD.
Good sir, have you seen pass this way
A mischief straight from market-day?
You'd know her at a glance, I think;
Her eyes are blue, her lips are pink;
She has a way of looking back
Over her shoulder, and, alack!
Who gets that look one time, good sir,
Has naught to do but follow her.
PILGRIM.
I have not seen this maid, methinks,
Though she that passed had lips like pinks.
SHEPHERD.
Or like two strawberries made one
By some sly trick of dew and sun.
PILGRIM.
A poet!
SHEPHERD.
Nay, a simple swain
That tends his flock on yonder plain,
Naught else, I swear by book and bell.
But she that passed, you marked her well.
Was she not smooth as any be
That dwell herein in Arcady?
PILGRIM.
Her skin was as the satin bark
Of birches
SHEPHERD.
Light or dark?
PILGRIM.
Quite dark.
[...] Read more
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Added by Poetry Lover
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