Bucolics

Mayday: two came to field in such wise :

'A daisied mead', each said to each,

So were they one; so sought they couch,

Across barbed stile, through flocked brown cows.

`No pitchforked farmer, please,' she said;

`May cockcrow guard us safe,' said he;

By blackthorn thicket, flower spray

They pitched their coats, come to green bed.

Below: a fen where water stood;

Aslant: their hill of stinging nettle;

Then, honor-bound, mute grazing cattle;

Above: leaf-wraithed white air, white cloud.

All afternoon these lovers lay

Until the sun turned pale from warm,

Until sweet wind changed tune, blew harm :

Cruel nettles stung her angles raw.

Rueful, most vexed, that tender skin

Should accept so fell a wound,

He stamped and cracked stalks to the ground

Which had caused his dear girl pain.

Now he goes from his rightful road

And, under honor, will depart;

While she stands burning, venom-girt,

In wait for sharper smart to fade.