I had a little Sorrow, Born of a little Sin, I found a room all damp with gloom And shut us all within; And, “Little Sorrow, weep,” said I, “And, Little Sin, pray God to die, And I upon the floor will lie And think how bad I’ve been!” Alas for pious planning-- It mattered not a whit! As far as gloom went in that room, The lamp might have been lit! My Little Sorrow would not weep, My Little Sin would go to sleep-- To save my soul I could not keep My graceless mind on it! So up I got in anger, And took a book I had, And put a ribbon on my hair To please a passing lad. And, “One thing there’s no getting by-- I’ve been a wicked girl,” said I; “But if I can’t be sorry, why, I might as well be glad!” _Daphne_ Why do you follow me?-- Any moment I can be Nothing but a laurel-tree. Any moment of the chase I can leave you in my place A pink bough for your embrace. Yet if over hill and hollow, Still it is your will to follow, I am off;--to heel, Apollo! _Portrait by a Neighbour_ Before she has her floor swept Or her dishes done, Any day you’ll find her A-sunning in the sun! It’s long after midnight Her key’s in the lock, And you never see her chimney smoke Till past ten o’clock! She digs in her garden With a shovel and a spoon, She weeds her lazy lettuce By the light of the moon. She walks up the walk Like a woman in a dream, She forgets she borrowed butter And pays you back cream! Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And the Queen Anne’s lace! _The Merry Maid_ Oh, I am grown so free from care Since my heart broke! I set my throat against the air, I laugh at simple folk! There’s little kind and little fair Is worth its weight in smoke To me, that’s grown so free from care Since my heart broke! Lass, if to sleep you would repair As peaceful as you woke, Best not besiege your lover there For just the words he spoke To me, that’s grown so free from care Since my heart broke! _To S. M._ _If he should lie a-dying_ I am not willing you should go Into the earth, where Helen went; She is awake by now, I know. Where Cleopatra’s anklets rust You will not lie with my consent; And Sappho is a roving dust; Cressid could love again; Dido, Rotted in state, is restless still; You leave me much against my will. _The Philosopher_ And what are you that, wanting you, I should be kept awake As many nights as there are days With weeping for your sake? And what are you that, missing you, As many days as crawl I should be listening to the wind And looking at the wall? I know a man that’s a braver man And twenty men as kind, And what are you, that you should be The one man in my mind?