Monday, April 12, 2010

the smell of old books

i found this poem in an old book (hood - first series), with gold trim, edges dried by the sun.

it was a young maiden went forth to ride,
and there was a wooer to pace by her side;
his horse was so little, and hers so high,
he thought his angel was up in the sky.

his love was great tho' his wit was small;
he bade her ride easy-and that was all.
the very horses began to neigh,-
because their betters had nought to say.

they rode by elm, and they rode by oak,
they rode by a church-yard, and then he spoke:-
:my pretty maiden, if you'll agree
you shall always amble through life with me."

the damsel answer'd him never a word,
but kick'd the grey mare, and away she spurr'd.
the wooer still follow'd behind the jade,
and enjoy'd-like a wooer-the dust she made.

they rode thro' moss, and they rode thr' moor,-
the gallant behind and the lass before:-
at last they came to a miry place,
and there the sad wooer gave up the chase.

quoth he, "if my nag were better to ride,
i'd follow her over the world so wide.
oh, it is not my love that begins to fail,
but i've lost the last glimpse of that grey mare's tail!"

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