I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray, I hear it in the deep heart's core. THE SONG OF THE OLD MOTHER I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow. And then I must scrub, and bake, and sweep, Till stars are beginning to blink and peep; But the young lie long and dream in their bed Of the matching of ribbons, the blue and the red, And their day goes over in idleness, And they sigh if the wind but lift up a tress. While I must work, because I am old And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold. THE CAP AND BELLS A Queen was beloved by a jester, And once when the owls grew still He made his soul go upward And stand on her window sill. In a long and straight blue garment, It talked before morn was white, And it had grown wise by thinking Of a footfall hushed and light. But the young queen would not listen; She rose in her pale nightgown, She drew in the brightening casement And pushed the brass bolt down. He bade his heart go to her, When the bats cried out no more, In a red and quivering garment It sang to her through the door. The tongue of it sweet with dreaming Of a flutter of flower-like hair, But she took up her fan from the table And waved it off on the air. 'I've cap and bells,' he pondered, 'I will send them to her and die.' And as soon as the morn had whitened He left them where she went by. She laid them upon her bosom, Under a cloud of her hair, And her red lips sang them a love song. The stars grew out of the air. She opened her door and her window, And the heart and the soul came through, To her right hand came the red one, To her left hand came the blue. They set up a noise like crickets, A chattering wise and sweet, And her hair was a folded flower, And the quiet of love her feet. AN OLD SONG RESUNG Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. _Rudyard Kipling_