My love is true and all for you.
"Perhaps, young man, perhaps."
Oh, look in my eyes, then, can you doubt?
-Why, 'tis a mile from town.
How green the grass is all about!
We might as well sit down.
-Ah, life, what is it but a flower?
Why must true lovers sigh?
Be kind, have pity, my own, my pretty,-
"Good-bye, young man, good-bye."
VI
When the lad for longing sighs,
Mute and dull of cheer and pale,
If at death's own door he lies,
Maiden, you can heal his ail.
Lovers' ills are all to buy:
The wan look, the hollow tone,
The hung head, the sunken eye,
You can have them for your own.
Buy them, buy them: eve and morn
Lovers' ills are all to sell.
Then you can lie down forlorn;
But the lover will be well.
VII
When smoke stood up from Ludlow,
And mist blew off from Teme,
And blithe afield to ploughing
Against the morning beam
I strode beside my team,
The blackbird in the coppice
Looked out to see me stride,
And hearkened as I whistled
The tramping team beside,
And fluted and replied:
"Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;
What use to rise and rise?
Rise man a thousand mornings
Yet down at last he lies,
And then the man is wise.
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