Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A MERRY BALLAD OF THE HAWTHORN TREE, by GEORGE PEELE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A MERRY BALLAD OF THE HAWTHORN TREE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: It was a maid of my country
Last Line: To talk again of the hawthorn green.
Subject(s): Hawthorn


IT was a maid of my country,
As she came by the hawthorn-tree,
As full of flowers as might be seen,
She marvell'd to see the tree so green.

At last she askèd of this tree,
"How came this freshness unto thee,
And every branch so fair and clean?
I marvel that you grow so green."

The tree made answer by and by,
"I have good cause to grow triumphantly;
The sweetest dew that ever be seen
Doth fall on me to keep me green."

"Yea," quoth the maid, "but where you grow,
You stand at hand for every blow,
Of every man for to be seen:
I marvel that you grow so green."

"Though many one take flowers fro me,
And many a branch out of my tree,
I have such store they will not be seen,
For more and more my twigs grow green."

"But how an they chance to cut thee down,
And carry thy branches into the town?
Then will they never no more be seen,
To grow again so fresh and green."

"Though that you do, it is no boot;
Although they cut me to the root,
Next year again I will be seen
To bud my branches fresh and green.

And you, fair maid, can not do so,
For if you let your maidhood go,
Then will it never no more be seen,
As I with my branches can grow green."

The maid with that began to blush,
And turn'd her from the hawthorn-bush;
She thought herself so fair and clean,
Her beauty still would ever grow green.

When that she heard this marvellous doubt,
She wander'd still then all about,
Suspecting still what she would ween,
Her maidhood lost would never be seen.

With many a sigh she went her way,
To see how she made herself so gay,
To walk, to see, and to be seen,

And so outfac'd the hawthorn-green.

Besides all that, it put her in fear,
To talk with company any where,
For fear to lose the thing that should be seen
To grow as were the hawthorn green.

But after this never I could hear
Of this fair maiden any where,
That ever she was in forest seen,
To talk again of the hawthorn green.





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