C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Arthur Joseph Munby (18281910)
Doris: A Pastoral
I
Her crook was laden with wreathèd flowers;
I sat and wooed her, through sunlight wheeling
And shadows stealing, for hours and hours.
Wild summer-roses of sweet perfume,
The while I sued her, kept hushed and hearkened,
Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom.
She said, “We linger,—we must not stay:
My flock’s in danger, my sheep will wander;
Behold them yonder, how far they stray!”
And still be near you, and still adore!
No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling:
Ah! stay, my darling, a moment more!”
Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day:
My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded,
I shall be scolded and sent away.”
They ought to kiss you when you get home;
And well rewarded by friend and neighbor
Should be the labor from which you come.”
“That lambs are weakly, and sheep are wild;
But if they love me, it’s none so fervent,—
I am a servant, and not a child.”
And love did win me to swift reply:—
“Ah! do but prove me; and none shall bind you,
Nor fray nor find you, until I die.”
As if debating in dreams divine:
But I did brave them; I told her plainly
She doubted vainly,—she must be mine.
Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes;
And homeward drave them, we two together,
Through blooming heather and gleaming dews.
My Doris tender, my Doris true;
That I, her warder, did always bless her,
And often press her to take her due.
With love excelling and undefiled;
And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent,—
No more a servant, nor yet a child.