A Tune On A Reed

I

I have a pipe of oaten straw,
I play upon it when I may,
And the music that I draw
Is as happy as the day.

It has seven holes, and I
Play upon it high and low ;
I can make it laugh and cry,
I can make it banish woe.

Any tune you like to name
I will play it at the word,
Old or new is all the same,
I'm as ready as a bird.

No one pipes so happily,
Not a piper can succeed
When I lean against a tree
Blowing gently on my reed.

II

But there is a tune, and though
I try to play it day and night,
Blowing high and blowing low,
I can never get it right.

I know the tune without a flaw,
And yet that tune I cannot play
On my pipe of oaten straw,
Though I practise night and day.

It seems to me I never will
Play again the happy air
Which I heard upon a hill
When the Shee were dancing there.
Little pipe ! be good to me !

And play the tune I want to play,
Or I will smash you on a tree,
And throw your wicked halves away.

Songs From The Clay [1915]