William Watson Poems

MY little maiden two years old, just able
To tower full half a head above the table,
With inquisition keen must needs explore
...

The master weavers at the enchanted loom
Of Legend, weaving long ago those tales
Through which there wanders the grey thread of truth,
...

Five-and-thirty black slaves,
Half-a-hundred white,
All their duty but to sing
For their Queen's delight,
...

I know not if they erred
Who thought to see
The tale of all the times to be,
Star-character'd;
...

So without rest or tarriance all that night,
Until the world was blear with coming light,
Forth fared the princely fugitive, nor stayed
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That night he dreamed that over him there stole
A change miraculous, whereby his soul
Was parted from his body for a space,
...

Now as it chanced, the day was almost spent
When down the lonely mountain-side he went,
The whitehaired man, the Prince that was; and ere
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Had I the fabled herb
That brought to life the dead,
Whom would I dare disturb
In his eternal bed?
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[A Viennese gentleman, who had climbed the Hoch-König
without a guide, was found dead, in a sitting posture, near the
...

Clear as of old the great voice rings to-day,
While Sherwood's oak-leaves twine with Aldworth's bay:
The voice of him the master and the sire
...