THE WOOD-MAID.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 48, 28 November 1891, Page 623

THE WOOD-MAID.

Why will ye bring me your bold, brown faces, Crowned with the leaves of my plundered wood ? Why will ye lurk in the low, leafy places, Peering and jeering, and wooing me rude ? You frighten the bee from the linden blossom, The doe in the dell, and the shy wood-dove, The hare in its haunt, and the heart in my bosom, With all your talking of love, love, love. Here I live merry until you beset me ; What the birds sow is the harvest I reap. Here I live merry till you come to fret me ; The heart in my bosom I keep safe asleep. With the wit of your words to your will you would bind me, As you bind the wings of the meek wood-dove : In a snare, like a hare, you would wound me and wind me. And bind me to the service of love, love, love. Is love as sweet as the bloom the bee knoweth ? Is love as deep as the deep streams run ? Is love as pure as the wind when it bloweth ? Is love as true as the shining o' the sun ? I’ll loose my locks to the free winds blowing. I’ll give my cheek to the sun and the rain. I’ll give my image to the clear stream’s showing, But I’ll give not my lips to the lips of a swain. Go hunt the bee with the sweet spoil laden ! Go hunt the hare, and the doe, and the dove ! Come not a-hunting a poor, merry maiden, With all your mocking of love, love, love. Come, Wind, kiss me ! kiss and forsake not ! Smile to my smiling, thou constant Sun ! Heart in my bosom, wake not, wake not, Till streams in the forest forget to run !

Helen Thayer Hutcheson.