Page:Poems Barrett.djvu/277

I sate down beneath the beech
 Which leans over to the lane,
And the far sound of your speech
 Did not promise any pain:
 And I blessed you full and free,
 With a smile stooped tenderly
 O'er the May-flowers on my knee.

But the sound grew into word
 As the speakers drew more near—
Sweet, forgive me that I heard
 What you wished me not to hear.
 Do not weep so—do not shake—
 Oh,—I heard thee, Bertha, make
 Good true answers for my sake.

Yes, and he too! let him stand
 In thy thoughts, untouched by blame.
Could he help it, if my hand
 He had claimed with hasty claim?
 That was wrong perhaps—but then
 Such things be—and will, again!
 Women cannot judge for men.

Had he seen thee, when he swore
 He would love but me alone?
Thou wert absent,—sent before
 To our kin in Sidmouth town.
 "When he saw thee who art best,
 Past compare, and loveliest,
 He but judged thee as the rest.

Could we blame him with grave words,
 Thou and I, Dear, if we might?
Thy brown eyes have looks like birds,
 Flying straightway to the light:
 Mine are older.—Hush!—Look out—
 Up the street! Is none without?
 How the poplar swings about!