Would you let me go, Mother, if I were a boy?
MOTHER. I don't suppose you'd ask me, dear.
DAUGHTER (sighing). Oh, well! We must make the best of it, I
suppose. Perhaps one day something will happen. (She goes back
to the spinet and sings again.)
_Lads and lasses, what will you sell,
What will you sell?_
Four stout walls and a roof atop,
Warm fires gleaming brightly,
Well-stored cellar and garnered crop,
Money-bags packed tightly;
An ordered task in an ordered day,
And a sure bed nightly;
Years which peacefully pass away,
Until Death comes lightly.
_Lads and lasses, what will you buy?
What will you buy?_
Here is a cap to cover your head,
A cap with one red feather;
Here is a cloak to make your bed
Warm or winter weather;
Here is a satchel to store your ware,
Strongly lined with leather;
And here is a staff to take you there
When you go forth together.
_Lads and lasses, what will you gain,
What will you gain?_
Chatter of rooks on tall elm-trees
New Spring houses taking;
Daffodils in an April breeze
Golden curtsies making;
Shadows of clouds across the weald
From hill to valley breaking,
The first faint stir which the woodlands yield
When the world is waking.
Pages:
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220