Richard Eugene Burton

How often in the summer-tide,
His graver business set aside,
His stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed
read more

How often in the summer-tide,
His graver business set aside,
His stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed
As to the pipe of Pan,
Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride
Across the fields to Anne.

From their folded mates they wander far,
Their ways seem harsh and wild:
They follow the beck read more

From their folded mates they wander far,
Their ways seem harsh and wild:
They follow the beck of a baleful star,
Their paths are dream-beguiled.

Blessed is the wooing
That is not long a-doing.

Blessed is the wooing
That is not long a-doing.

We are the doubles of those whose way
Was festal with fruits and flowers;
Body and brain read more

We are the doubles of those whose way
Was festal with fruits and flowers;
Body and brain we were sound as they,
But the prizes were not ours.

Meanwhile "Black sheep, black sheep!" we cry,
Safe in the inner fold;
And maybe they hear, and read more

Meanwhile "Black sheep, black sheep!" we cry,
Safe in the inner fold;
And maybe they hear, and wonder why,
And marvel, out in the cold.