1. Birds in the high Hall-garden When twilight was falling, Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud, They were crying and calling. 2. Where was Maud? in our wood; And I, who else, was with her, Gathering woodland lilies, Myriads blow together. 3. Birds in our wood sang Ringing thro' the vallies, Maud is here, here, here In among the lilies. 4. I kiss'd her slender hand, She took the kiss sedately; Maud is not seventeen, But she is tall and stately. 5. I to cry out on pride Who have won her favour! Maud were sure of Heaven If lowliness could save her. 6. I know the way she went Home with her maiden posy, For her feet have touch'd the meadows And left the daisies rosy. 7. Birds in the high Hall-garden Were crying and calling to her, Where is Maud, Maud, Maud, One is come to woo her. 8. Look, a horse at the door, And little King Charles is snarling, Go back, my lord, across the moor, You are not her darling. XIII. 1. Scorn'd, to be scorn'd by one that I scorn, Is that a matter to make me fret? That a calamity hard to be borne? Well, he may live to hate me yet. Fool that I am to be vext with his pride! I past him, I was crossing his lands; He stood on the path a little aside; His face, as I grant, in spite of spite, Has a broad-blown comeliness, red and white, And six feet two, as I think, he stands; But his essences turn'd the live air sick, And barbarous opulence jewel-thick Sunn'd itself on his breast and his hands. 2. Who shall call me ungentle, unfair, I long'd so heartily then and there To give him the grasp of fellowship; But while I past he was humming an air, Stopt, and then with a riding whip Leisurely tapping a glossy boot, And curving a contumelious lip, Gorgonised me from head to foot With a stony British stare. 3. Why sits he here in his father's chair? That old man never comes to his place: Shall I believe him ashamed to be seen? For only once, in the village street, Last year, I caught a glimpse of his face, A gray old wolf and a lean. Scarcely, now, would I call him a cheat; For then, perhaps, as a child of deceit, She might by a true descent be untrue; And Maud is as true as Maud is sweet: Tho' I fancy her sweetness only due To the sweeter blood by the other side; Her mother has been a thing complete, However she came to be so allied. And fair without, faithful within, Maud to him is nothing akin: Some peculiar mystic grace Made her only the child of her mother, And heap'd the whole inherited sin On that huge scapegoat of the race, All, all upon the brother. 4. Peace, angry spirit, and let him be! Has not his sister smiled on me? XIV. 1. Maud has a garden of roses And lilies fair on a lawn: There she walks in her state And tends upon bed and bower And thither I climb'd at dawn And stood by her garden-gate; A lion ramps at the top, He is claspt by a passion-flower.