| The Other Lover |
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I’m home from off the stormy sea,
And down the street
The folk come out to welcome me
On eager feet.
O neighbours, God be with you all,
But for my true love I must call;
She lingers in her father’s hall
So shy, so sweet!
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Here is a string of milky pearls
For her to wear,
An amber comb to match the curls
Of her bright hair.
O neighbours, do not crowd me sol
Stand by! stand by! for I must go
To put on my love’s hand of snow
This gold ring fair.
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Good dame, why do you block the way
And shake your head?
Must all the things you have to say
Just now be said?
O neighbours, let me pass—but why—
My God, what makes you women cry?
Come tell me that I too may die!
Is my love dead?
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“Nay, Marjorie’s a living thing,
And fair and strong.
Yet did you wait to give your ring
A year too long.
To seek her love there came the Moon;
Now Marjorie at night and noon
Is chained and sits alone to croon
The Moon’s love-sons.”
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