LITTLE Maud, my queen! Oh! the winsome lady! All the bright midsummer day Thrush and black-cap on the spray, Sing for her so blithe and gay, In the wood-depths shady. Ah! but Maud, my queen, By your troth remember, You've a poet, all your own, Keeps for you his sweetest tone, Singing, not in June alone, But in bleak December. Maud, my lady, if you please, Say whose singing's best of these? Little Maud, my queen! Oh! the winsome lady! Leaps her lap-dog to and fro, Fawning-fond her hound doth grow, When she pats and pats them so, In the wood-depths shady. Ah! but Maud, my queen, By your troth remember, You've a poet loves you still, Be your humor what it will Cross or kind, or warm or chill, June or bleak December. Maud, my lady, if you please, Say whose loving's best of these. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW YEAR'S DAWN - BROADWAY by SARA TEASDALE IN THE MORNING by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR FALSE POETS AND TRUE; TO WORDSWORTH by THOMAS HOOD A LULLABY by THOMALLY HOLBECH ANDERSON THE RUINS OF CORINTH by ANTIPATER OF SIDON THE GHOST by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM LILIES: 27. THE WAVE-TOSSED VESSEL by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TO BETTINE; THE CHILD-FRIEND OF GOETHE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |