At Malmsmead, by the river side I met a little lady, And, as she passed, she sang a song That was not Tate or Brady, Or any song by art contrived Of minstrel or of poet, For baron's hall, or chanter's desk; And yet I seemed to know it. Good sooth! I think the song was mine -- The all unthinking sadness -- She read it from my longing eyes, And gave it back in gladness. And yet it was a challenge too, As plain as she could make it, So petulant, so innocent, And yet I could not take it. A breath, a gleam, and she is gone -- Just half a minute only -- So die the breaths, so fade the gleams, And we are left so lonely. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PIANO by DAVID HERBERT LAWRENCE SONNET: 94 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE A TOUCH OF NATURE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |