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A poem by Oscar Wilde |
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Ballade De Marguerite (Normande) |
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Title: Ballade De Marguerite (Normande) Author: Oscar Wilde [More Titles by Wilde] I am weary of lying within the chase Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town But I would not go where the Squires ride, Alack! and alack! thou art overbold, Will she love me the less that my Father is seen Perchance she is sewing at tapestrie, Ah, if she is working the arras bright Perchance she is hunting of the deer, Ah, if she is riding with the court, Perchance she is kneeling in St. Denys, Ah, if she is praying in lone chapelle, Come in, my son, for you look sae pale, But who are these knights in bright array? 'T is the King of England from over sea, But why does the curfew toll sae low? O 't is Hugh of Amiens my sister's son Nay, nay, for I see white lilies clear, O 't is old Dame Jeannette that kept the hall, Dame Jeannette had not that gold-brown hair, O 't is none of our kith and none of our kin, But I hear the boy's voice chaunting sweet, Come in, my son, and lie on the bed, O mother, you know I loved her true: -THE END- GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |