Читать книгу Song-Surf - Rice Cale Young - Страница 7

I met a child upon the moor

A-wading down the heather;

She put her hand into my own,

We crossed the fields together.

I led her to her father's door —

A cottage mid the clover.

I left her – and the world grew poor

To me, a childless rover.

I met a maid upon the moor,

The morrow was her wedding.

Love lit her eyes with lovelier hues

Than the eve-star was shedding.

She looked a sweet good-bye to me,

And o'er the stile went singing.

Down all the lonely night I heard

But bridal bells a-ringing.

I met a mother on the moor,

By a new grave a-praying.

The happy swallows in the blue

Upon the winds were playing.

"Would I were in his grave," I said,

"And he beside her standing!"

There was no heart to break if death

For me had made demanding.