. Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . they call him, what care I,Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat — oneWho can rule and dare not lie. And ah for a man to arise in the man I am may cease to be ! 20 Maud; XI. 0 let the solid groundNot fail beneath my feet Before my life has found What some have found so sweet;Then let come what come may,What matter if I go mad, 1 shall have had my day. Let the sweet heavens endure,Not close and darken above me Before I am quite quite sureThat there is one to love me ; Then let come what come may To a life that has been so sad, I shall have had my day. A
. Maud, Locksley hall, and other poems . they call him, what care I,Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat — oneWho can rule and dare not lie. And ah for a man to arise in the man I am may cease to be ! 20 Maud; XI. 0 let the solid groundNot fail beneath my feet Before my life has found What some have found so sweet;Then let come what come may,What matter if I go mad, 1 shall have had my day. Let the sweet heavens endure,Not close and darken above me Before I am quite quite sureThat there is one to love me ; Then let come what come may To a life that has been so sad, I shall have had my day. A JMonodrama. 31 XII. Birds in the high Hall-gardenWhen twilight was falling, Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud,They were crying and calling. Where was Maud ? in our wood ; And I, who else, was with her,Gathering woodland lilies, Myriads blow together. Birds in our wood sangRinging thro the valleys, Maud is here, here, hereIn among the lilies. I kissd her slender hand,She took the kiss sedately : Maud is not she is tall and IN AMONG THE LILIES. (32/ Maud; A ISIonodraina. 33 I to cry out on pride Who have won her favour!O Maud were sure of Heaven If lowliness could save her. I know the way she wentHome with her maiden posy, For her feet have touchd the meadowsAnd left the daisies rosy. Birds in the high Hall-gardenWere crying and calling to her, Where is Maud, Maud, Maud?One is come to woo her. Look, a horse at the door, And little King Charley snarling,Go back, my lord, across the moor, You are not her darling. 34 Maud; XIII. Scornd, to be scornd by one that I scorn, Is that a matter to make me fret ? That a calamity hard to be borne? Well, he may live to hate me yet. Fool that I am to be vext with his pride ! I past him, I was crossing his lands; He stood on the path a little aside ; His face, as I grant, in spite of spite. Has a broad-blown comeliness, red and white, And six feet two, as I think, he stands ; But his essences turnd the live air sick, And barbarou
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