Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By SidneyLanier817 Song for “The Jaquerie”
T
And burned the violet to a rose.
O Sea! wouldst thou not better be
Mere violet still? Who knows? Who knows?
Well hides the violet in the wood:
The dead leaf wrinkles her a hood,
And winter’s ill is violet ’s good;
But the bold glory of the rose,
It quickly comes and quickly goes,—
Red petals whirling in white snows,
Ah me!
The rose is turned to ashes gray.
O Sea, O sea, mightst thou but be
The violet thou hast been to-day!
The sun is brave, the sun is bright,
The sun is lord of love and light,
But after him it cometh night.
Dim anguish of the lonesome dark!—
Once a girl’s body, stiff and stark,
Was laid in a tomb without a mark,
Ah me!
T
O’ the ears was cropped, o’ the tail was nicked,
(All.)Oo-hoo-o, howled the hound.
The hound into his kennel crept;
He rarely wept, he never slept.
His mouth he always open kept,
Licking his bitter wound,
The hound,
(All.)U-lu-lo, howled the hound.
That showed the hound a meat-bare bone.
(All.)O hungry was the hound!
The hound had but a churlish wit:
He seized the bone, he crunched, he bit.
“An thou wert Master, I had slit
Thy throat with a huge wound,”
Quo’ hound.
(All.)O, angry was the hound.
The Master lay abed, alone.
(All.)Oh ho, why not? quo’ hound.
He leapt, he seized the throat, he tore
The Master, head from neck, to floor,
And rolled the head i’ the kennel door,
And fled and salved his wound,
Good hound!
(All.)U-lu-lo, howled the hound.