David Lewis Paget (22.11.1944 / Nottingham, England/live in Australia)
I couldn't sleep in the stableyard,
I couldn't sleep in the house,
I crept around in the dark out there
As quiet as any mouse,
With just one name in my fevered brain
It was all I could do to think,
Alisa, oh Alisa, you
Have blotted my mind with ink.
Since ever you came to stay last month
I've been besotted with you,
My eyes would follow you round the room
Though I hadn't wanted them to,
I hoped that your eyes would follow me
As I served the Lord, His Grace,
Dressed in the finest livery
But you turned away your face.
I know I'm only a servant here
But my heart's as big as the Moon,
And you are the daughter of an Earl
With a fortune coming soon,
You could have your pick of a dozen men
With titles, Barons and Earls,
But you'll never find love as deep and fine
As the meanest of servant girls.
For you have money and they have love,
For that is all that they want,
While you're betrothed to a Stately Home
And a man of provenance,
He'll barely notice you once you've wed
Your fortune to his estate,
He'll sit at the gambling tables, while
You're pondering on your fate.
He'll sally forth in his hunting while
He'll keep you busy at home,
Lording it over the servants hall
Or you'll spend your hours alone.
Once he's certain that you're enceinte
He'll look in, once in a while,
To see that you raise the future Lord
In a certain lordly style.
Alisa, why can't you see it
You could be more than fancy free,
Roaming over the countryside
In a horse and chaise, with me,
We'd sleep out there in a haystack
Under the warm and starry skies,
And every time that you looked my way
You'd see lovelight in my eyes.
I'd treat you more like a princess than
Some lord, with cynical stare,
Who leaves to meet with his mistress
In some attic, in Mayfair,
We'd find us a little cottage
On the moors, you'd bake the bread,
We'd drink the fruit of the vine until
It's time to go to bed.
My heart is just about bursting, so
I've written you this note,
Thinking you'll never find it, but
I can always live in hope,
I'll always love you Alisa, ‘til
The stars fall from the sky,
And when I am old I'll read it, and
I'll sit and wonder - ‘Why? '
You must have gone through my letters
For you stare, as never you've done,
Dressed in a pair of jodhpurs
With your hair, tied up in a bun,
You turn and beckon me out to you
And my heart drops down to the floor,
You say, ‘I haven't a chaise, my love,
I've got us a coach and four! '
24 January 2013
Comments about this poem (Alisa by David Lewis Paget )
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