The Sootherer

Little Joy, why do you run so fast ?
Waving behind you as you go away
Your tiny hand. You smiled at me and cast
A silver apple, asking me to play:
But when I ran to pick the apple up
You ran the other way.

Bad one ! I will refuse to eat my food,
I will not talk or laugh or say a prayer
Unless you cease from running; I will brood
In secret if you leave me: I declare
I'll drink and fight and go to the bad
And curse and swear!

Little One ! White One ! Shy Little Gay Sprite!
Do not turn your head across you shoulder
To laugh and mock at me; it is not right
To laugh at me for I am older:
Throw me the silver apple once again
You little scolder.

I love you very dear, indeed I do;
I never saw a girl like you before
In any place. You are more sweetly new
Than a May moon : you are my store,
My secret and my treasure and the pulse
Of my heart's core.

Throw me the silver apple — I will run
And pick it up and give it you again :
Dear Heart ! Sweet Laughter ! — throw it then for fun
And not for me — if you will but remain,
. . . Nay do not run; I'll stand thus far away
And not complain.

Come just a little nearer, half a pace,
One little, little step: my eyes are bad,
They cannot altogether see your face
At this great distance — if I had
Good sight I would not mind how far I stood,
I would be glad.

Never before — or only one or two :
I did not really like them half so well,
Not really half so well as I like you,
Throw me the silver apple and I'll tell
Their names, and what I used to say to them,
— The first was Nell.

Throw me the apple and I'll tell you more;
— She had a pretty face, but she was fat:
We clung together when the rain would pour
Under a tree or hedge, and often sat
Through long, still, sunny hours — Tell what she said?
I'll not do that.

I really couldn't, no, it would be wrong
And most unfair, I will not say a word
About the girl — (your voice is like the song
I heard this morning from a little bird)
. . . I'll whisper then if you come close to me,
— You've hardly stirred.
She said she loved me better than her life.
— You need not laugh, she said so anyway,

And meant it too, and longed to be my wife:
She kissed me many times and wept to stay
Within my arms and did not ever want
To go away.

But she was fat, I will admit that's true:
And so I hid when she came seeking me.
If she had been as beautiful as you . . .
(You are as slender as a growing tree,
And when you move the blood goes leaping through
The heart of me).

The other girl? Yes, she is very fair:
Her feet are lighter than the clouds on high,
And there is morn and noonday in her hair,
And mellow, sunny evenings in her eye,
And all day long she sings just like a lark
Up in the sky.

I say she did — she loved me very well,
And I loved her until, Ah, woe is me !
Until today, when passing through the dell
I met yourself, and now I cannot see
Her face at all, or any face but yours
In memory.

I ought to be ashamed? well ament I?
But that's no comfort when I'm in a trap:
I tell you I shall sit down here and die
Unless you stay — you do not care a rap —
Ah, Little Sweetheart, do not run away,
. . . Have pity on a chap.

You'll go — then listen, you are just a pig,
A little wrinkled pig out of a sty;
Your legs are crooked and your nose is big,
You've got no calves, you have a silly eye,
I don't know why I stopped to talk to you,
I hope you'll die.

Now cry, go on, mew like a little cat,
And rub your eyes and stamp and tear your wig;
I see your ankles ! listen, they are fat
And so's your head, you're angled like a twig,
Your back's all baggy and your clothes don't fit
And your feet are big!

She's gone, begor, she legged it like a hare !
You'd think I had the itch, or else a face
Like a blue monkey — keeps me standing there,
Not good enough to touch her . . ! Back I'll race
And make it up with Breed, that's what I'll do,
. . . There is a flower that bloometh,
Tra la la la laddy la . . .

The Hill of Vision [1912]