Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MAUD, by THOMAS WESTWOOD



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MAUD, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Little maud, my queen!
Last Line: Say whose loving's best of these.


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.





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