Come queen of months in company
Wi all thy merry minstrelsy
The restless cuckoo absent long
And twittering swallows chimney song
And hedge row crickets notes that run
From every bank that fronts the sun
And swathy bees about the grass
That stops wi every bloom they pass
And every minute every hour
Keep teazing weeds that wear a flower
And toil and childhoods humming joys
For there is music in the noise
The village childern mad for sport
In school times leisure ever short
That crick and catch the bouncing ball
And run along the church yard wall
Capt wi rude figured slabs whose claims
In times bad memory hath no names
Oft racing round the nookey church
Or calling ecchos in the porch
And jilting oer the weather ****
Viewing wi jealous eyes the clock
Oft leaping grave stones leaning hights
Uncheckt wi mellancholy sights
The green grass swelld in many a heap
Where kin and friends and parents sleep
Unthinking in their jovial cry
That time shall come when they shall lye
As lowly and as still as they
While other boys above them play
Heedless as they do now to know
The unconcious dust that lies below
The shepherd goes wi happy stride
Wi moms long shadow by his side
Down the dryd lanes neath blooming may
That once was over shoes in clay
While martins twitter neath his eves
Which he at early morning leaves
The driving boy beside his team
Will oer the may month beauty dream
And **** his hat and turn his eye
On flower and tree and deepning skye
And oft bursts loud in fits of song
And whistles as he reels along
Cracking his whip in starts of joy
A happy ***** driving boy
The youth who leaves his corner stool
Betimes for neighbouring village school
While as a mark to urge him right
The church spires all the way in sight
Wi cheerings from his parents given
Starts neath the joyous smiles of heaven
And sawns wi many an idle stand
Wi bookbag swinging in his hand
And gazes as he passes bye
On every thing that meets his eye
Young lambs seem tempting him to play
Dancing and bleating in his way
Wi trembling tails and pointed ears
They follow him and loose their fears
He smiles upon their sunny faces
And feign woud join their happy races
The birds that sing on bush and tree
Seem chirping for his company
And all in fancys idle whim
Seem keeping holiday but him
He lolls upon each resting stile
To see the fields so sweetly smile
To see the wheat grow green and long
And list the weeders toiling song
Or short note of the changing thrush
Above him in the white thorn bush
That oer the leaning stile bends low
Loaded wi mockery of snow
Mozzld wi many a lushing thread
Of crab tree blossoms delicate red
He often bends wi many a wish
Oer the brig rail to view the fish
Go sturting by in sunny gleams
And chucks in the eye dazzld streams
Crumbs from his pocket oft to watch
The swarming struttle come to catch
Them where they to the bottom sile
Sighing in fancys joy the while
Hes cautiond not to stand so nigh
By rosey milkmaid tripping bye
Where he admires wi fond delight
And longs to be there mute till night
He often ventures thro the day
At truant now and then to play
Rambling about the field and plain
Seeking larks nests in the grain
And picking flowers and boughs of may
To hurd awhile and throw away
Lurking neath bushes from the sight
Of tell tale eyes till schools noon night
Listing each hour for church clocks hum
To know the hour to wander home
That parents may not think him long
Nor dream of his rude doing wrong
Dreading thro the night wi dreaming pain
To meet his masters wand again
Each hedge is loaded thick wi green
And where the hedger late hath been
Tender shoots begin to grow
From the mossy stumps below
While sheep and cow that teaze the grain
will nip them to the root again
They lay their bill and mittens bye
And on to other labours hie
While wood men still on spring intrudes
And thins the shadow solitudes
Wi sharpend axes felling down
The oak trees budding into brown
Where as they crash upon the ground
A crowd of labourers gather round
And mix among the shadows dark
To rip the crackling staining bark
From off the tree and lay when done
The rolls in lares to meet the sun
Depriving yearly where they come
The green wood pecker of its home
That early in the spring began
Far from the sight of troubling man
And bord their round holes in each tree
In fancys sweet security
Till startld wi the woodmans noise
It wakes from all its dreaming joys
The blue bells too that thickly bloom
Where man was never feared to come
And smell smocks that from view retires
**** rustling leaves and bowing briars
And stooping lilys of the valley
That comes wi shades and dews to dally
White beady drops on slender threads
Wi broad hood leaves above their heads
Like white robd maids in summer hours
Neath umberellas shunning showers
These neath the barkmens crushing treads
Oft perish in their blooming beds
Thus stript of boughs and bark in white
Their trunks shine in the mellow light
Beneath the green surviving trees
That wave above them in the breeze
And waking whispers slowly bends
As if they mournd their fallen friends
Each morning now the weeders meet
To cut the thistle from the wheat
And ruin in the sunny hours
Full many wild weeds of their flowers
Corn poppys that in crimson dwell
Calld ‘head achs’ from their sickly smell
And carlock yellow as the sun
That oer the may fields thickly run
And ‘iron ****’ content to share
The meanest spot that spring can spare
Een roads where danger hourly comes
Is not wi out its purple blooms
And leaves wi points like thistles round
Thickset that have no strength to wound
That shrink to childhoods eager hold
Like hair—and with its eye of gold
And scarlet starry points of flowers
Pimpernel dreading nights and showers
Oft calld ‘the shepherds weather glass’
That sleep till suns have dyd the grass
Then wakes and spreads its creeping bloom
Till clouds or threatning shadows come
Then close it shuts to sleep again
Which weeders see and talk of rain
And boys that mark them shut so soon
will call them ‘John go bed at noon
And fumitory too a name
That superstition holds to fame
Whose red and purple mottled flowers
Are cropt by maids in weeding hours
To boil in water milk and way1
For washes on an holiday
To make their beauty fair and sleak
And scour the tan from summers cheek
And simple small forget me not
Eyd wi a pinshead yellow spot
I’th’ middle of its tender blue
That gains from poets notice due
These flowers the toil by crowds destroys
And robs them of their lowly joys
That met the may wi hopes as sweet
As those her suns in gardens meet
And oft the dame will feel inclind
As childhoods memory comes to mind
To turn her hook away and spare
The blooms it lovd to gather there
My wild field catalogue of flowers
Grows in my ryhmes as thick as showers
Tedious and long as they may be
To some, they never weary me
The wood and mead and field of grain
I coud hunt oer and oer again
And talk to every blossom wild
Fond as a parent to a child
And cull them in my childish joy
By swarms and swarms and never cloy
When their lank shades oer morning pearls
Shrink from their lengths to little girls
And like the clock hand pointing one
Is turnd and tells the morning gone
They leave their toils for dinners hour
Beneath some hedges bramble bower
And season sweet their savory meals
Wi joke and tale and merry peals
Of ancient tunes from happy tongues
While linnets join their fitful songs
Perchd oer their heads in frolic play
Among the tufts of motling may
The young girls whisper things of love
And from the old dames hearing move
Oft making ‘love knotts’ in the shade
Of blue green oat or wheaten blade
And trying simple charms and spells
That rural superstition tells
They pull the little blossom threads
From out the knapweeds button heads
And put the husk wi many a smile
In their white bosoms for awhile
Who if they guess aright the swain
That loves sweet fancys trys to gain
Tis said that ere its lain an hour
Twill blossom wi a second flower
And from her white ******* hankerchief
Bloom as they ne’er had lost a leaf
When signs appear that token wet
As they are neath the bushes met
The girls are glad wi hopes of play
And harping of the holiday
A hugh blue bird will often swim
Along the wheat when skys grow dim
Wi clouds—slow as the gales of spring
In motion wi dark shadowd wing
Beneath the coming storm it sails
And lonly chirps the wheat hid quails
That came to live wi spring again
And start when summer browns the grain
They start the young girls joys afloat
Wi ‘wet my foot’ its yearly note
So fancy doth the sound explain
And proves it oft a sign of rain
About the moor ‘**** sheep and cow
The boy or old man wanders now
Hunting all day wi hopful pace
Each thick sown rushy thistly place
For plover eggs while oer them flye
The fearful birds wi teazing cry
Trying to lead their steps astray
And coying him another way
And be the weather chill or warm
Wi brown hats truckd beneath his arm
Holding each prize their search has won
They plod bare headed to the sun
Now dames oft bustle from their wheels
Wi childern scampering at their heels
To watch the bees that hang and swive
In clumps about each thronging hive
And flit and thicken in the light
While the old dame enjoys the sight
And raps the while their warming pans
A spell that superstition plans
To coax them in the garden bounds
As if they lovd the tinkling sounds
And oft one hears the dinning noise
Which dames believe each swarm decoys
Around each village day by day
Mingling in the warmth of may
Sweet scented herbs her skill contrives
To rub the bramble platted hives
Fennels thread leaves and crimpld balm
To scent the new house of the swarm
The thresher dull as winter days
And lost to all that spring displays
Still mid his barn dust forcd to stand
Swings his frail round wi weary hand
While oer his head shades thickly creep
And hides the blinking owl asleep
And bats in cobweb corners bred
Sharing till night their murky bed
The sunshine trickles on the floor
Thro every crevice of the door
And makes his barn where shadows dwell
As irksome as a prisoners cell
And as he seeks his daily meal
As schoolboys from their tasks will steal
ile often stands in fond delay
To see the daisy in his way
And wild weeds flowering on the wall
That will his childish sports recall
Of all the joys that came wi spring
The twirling top the marble ring
The gingling halfpence hussld up
At pitch and toss the eager stoop
To pick up heads, the smuggeld plays
Neath hovels upon sabbath days
When parson he is safe from view
And clerk sings amen in his pew
The sitting down when school was oer
Upon the threshold by his door
Picking from mallows sport to please
Each crumpld seed he calld a cheese
And hunting from the stackyard sod
The stinking hen banes belted pod
By youths vain fancys sweetly fed
Christning them his loaves of bread
He sees while rocking down the street
Wi weary hands and crimpling feet
Young childern at the self same games
And hears the self same simple names
Still floating on each happy tongue
Touchd wi the simple scene so strong
Tears almost start and many a sigh
Regrets the happiness gone bye
And in sweet natures holiday
His heart is sad while all is gay
How lovly now are lanes and balks
For toils and lovers sunday walks
The daisey and the buttercup
For which the laughing childern stoop
A hundred times throughout the day
In their rude ramping summer play
So thickly now the pasture crowds
In gold and silver sheeted clouds
As if the drops in april showers
Had woo’d the sun and swoond to flowers
The brook resumes its summer dresses
Purling neath grass and water cresses
And mint and flag leaf swording high
Their blooms to the unheeding eye
And taper bowbent hanging rushes
And horse tail childerns bottle brushes
And summer tracks about its brink
Is fresh again where cattle drink
And on its sunny bank the swain
Stretches his idle length again
Soon as the sun forgets the day
The moon looks down on the lovly may
And the little star his friend and guide
Travelling together side by side
And the seven stars and charleses wain
Hangs smiling oer green woods agen
The heaven rekindles all alive
Wi light the may bees round the hive
Swarm not so thick in mornings eye
As stars do in the evening skye
All all are nestling in their joys
The flowers and birds and pasture boys
The firetail, long a stranger, comes
To his last summer haunts and homes
To hollow tree and crevisd wall
And in the grass the rails odd call
That featherd spirit stops the swain
To listen to his note again
And school boy still in vain retraces
The secrets of his hiding places
In the black thorns crowded copse
Thro its varied turns and stops
The nightingale its ditty weaves
Hid in a multitude of leaves
The boy stops short to hear the strain
And ’sweet jug jug’ he mocks again
The yellow hammer builds its nest
By banks where sun beams earliest rest
That drys the dews from off the grass
Shading it from all that pass
Save the rude boy wi ferret gaze
That hunts thro evry secret maze
He finds its pencild eggs agen
All streakd wi lines as if a pen
By natures freakish hand was took
To scrawl them over like a book
And from these many mozzling marks
The school boy names them ‘writing larks’
*** barrels twit on bush and tree
Scarse bigger then a bumble bee
And in a white thorns leafy rest
It builds its curious pudding-nest
Wi hole beside as if a mouse
Had built the little barrel house
Toiling full many a lining feather
And bits of grey tree moss together
Amid the noisey rooky park
Beneath the firdales branches dark
The little golden crested wren
Hangs up his glowing nest agen
And sticks it to the furry leaves
As martins theirs beneath the eaves
The old hens leave the roost betimes
And oer the garden pailing climbs
To scrat the gardens fresh turnd soil
And if unwatchd his crops to spoil
Oft cackling from the prison yard
To peck about the houseclose sward
Catching at butterflys and things
Ere they have time to try their wings
The cattle feels the breath of may
And kick and toss their heads in play
The *** beneath his bags of sand
Oft jerks the string from leaders hand
And on the road will eager stoop
To pick the sprouting thistle up
Oft answering on his weary way
Some distant neighbours sobbing bray
Dining the ears of driving boy
As if he felt a fit of joy
Wi in its pinfold circle left
Of all its company bereft
Starvd stock no longer noising round
Lone in the nooks of foddering ground
Each skeleton of lingering stack
By winters tempests beaten black
Nodds upon props or bolt upright
Stands swarthy in the summer light
And oer the green grass seems to lower
Like stump of old time wasted tower
All that in winter lookd for hay
Spread from their batterd haunts away
To pick the grass or lye at lare
Beneath the mild hedge shadows there
Sweet month that gives a welcome call
To toil and nature and to all
Yet one day mid thy many joys
Is dead to all its sport and noise
Old may day where’s thy glorys gone
All fled and left thee every one
Thou comst to thy old haunts and homes
Unnoticd as a stranger comes
No flowers are pluckt to hail the now
Nor cotter seeks a single bough
The maids no more on thy sweet morn
Awake their thresholds to adorn
Wi dewey flowers—May locks new come
And princifeathers cluttering bloom
And blue bells from the woodland moss
And cowslip cucking ***** to toss
Above the garlands swinging hight
Hang in the soft eves sober light
These maid and child did yearly pull
By many a folded apron full
But all is past the merry song
Of maidens hurrying along
To crown at eve the earliest cow
Is gone and dead and silent now
The laugh raisd at the mocking thorn
Tyd to the cows tail last that morn
The kerchief at arms length displayd
Held up by pairs of swain and maid
While others bolted underneath
Bawling loud wi panting breath
‘Duck under water’ as they ran
Alls ended as they ne’er began
While the new thing that took thy place
Wears faded smiles upon its face
And where enclosure has its birth
It spreads a mildew oer her mirth
The herd no longer one by one
Goes plodding on her morning way
And garlands lost and sports nigh gone
Leaves her like thee a common day
Yet summer smiles upon thee still
Wi natures sweet unalterd will
And at thy births unworshipd hours
Fills her green lap wi swarms of flowers
To crown thee still as thou hast been
Of spring and summer months the queen

On Lolham Brigs in wild and lonely mood
I’ve seen the winter floods their gambols play
Through each old arch that trembled while I stood
Bent o’er its wall to watch the dashing spray
As their old stations would be washed away
Crash came the ice against the jambs and then
A shudder jarred the arches—yet once more
It breasted raving waves and stood agen
To wait the shock as stubborn as before
—White foam brown crested with the russet soil
As washed from new plough lands would dart beneath
Then round and round a thousand eddies boil
On tother side—then pause as if for breath
One minute—and engulphed—like life in death

Whose wrecky stains dart on the floods away
More swift than shadows in a stormy day
Straws trail and turn and steady—all in vain
The engulfing arches shoot them quickly through
The feather dances flutters and again
Darts through the deepest dangers still afloat
Seeming as faireys whisked it from the view
And danced it o’er the waves as pleasures boat
Light hearted as a thought in May—
Trays—uptorn bushes—fence demolished rails
Loaded with weeds in sluggish motions stray
Like water monsters lost each winds and trails
Till near the arches—then as in affright
It plunges—reels—and shudders out of sight

Waves trough—rebound—and fury boil again
Like plunging monsters rising underneath
Who at the top curl up a shaggy main
A moment catching at a surer breath
Then plunging headlong down and down—and on
Each following boil the shadow of the last
And other monsters rise when those are gone
Crest their fringed waves—plunge onward and are past
—The chill air comes around me ocean blea
From bank to bank the waterstrife is spread
Strange birds like snow spots o’er the huzzing sea
Hang where the wild duck hurried past and fled
On roars the flood—all restless to be free
Like trouble wandering to eternity

First born of Chaos, who so fair didst come
        From the old *****’s darksome womb!
        Which when it saw the lovely Child,
The melancholly Mass put on kind looks and smil’d.

Thou Tide of Glory which no Rest dost know,
        But ever Ebb, and ever Flow!
        Thou ******* of a true Jove!
Who does in thee descend, and Heav’n to Earth make Love!

Hail active Natures watchful Life and Health!
        Her Joy, her Ornament, and Wealth!
        Hail to thy Husband Heat, and Thee!
Thou the worlds beauteous Bride, the ***** Bridegroom He!

Say from what Golden Quivers of the Sky,
        Do all thy winged Arrows fly?
        Swiftness and Power by Birth are thine:
From thy Great Sire they came, thy Sire the word Divine.

’Tis, I believe, this Archery to show,
        That so much cost in Colours thou,
        And skill in Painting dost bestow,
Upon thy ancient Arms, the Gawdy Heav’nly Bow.

Swift as light Thoughts their empty Carriere run,
        Thy Race is finisht, when begun,
        Let a Post-Angel start with Thee,
And Thou the Goal of Earth shalt reach as soon as He:

Thou in the Moons bright Chariot proud and gay,
        Dost thy bright wood of Stars survay;
        And all the year dost with thee bring
Of thousand flowry Lights thine own Nocturnal Spring.

Thou Scythian-like dost round thy Lands above
        The Suns gilt Tent for ever move,
        And still as thou in pomp dost go
The shining Pageants of the World attend thy show.

Nor amidst all these Triumphs dost thou scorn
        The humble Glow-worms to adorn,
        And with those living spangles gild,
(O Greatness without Pride!) the Bushes of the Field.

Night, and her ugly Subjects thou dost fright,
        And sleep, the lazy Owl of Night;
        Asham’d and fearful to appear
They skreen their horrid shapes with the black Hemisphere.

With ’em there hasts, and wildly takes the Alarm,
        Of painted Dreams, a busie swarm,
        At the first opening of thine eye,
The various Clusters break, the antick Atomes fly.

The guilty Serpents, and obscener Beasts
        Creep conscious to their secret rests:
        Nature to thee does reverence pay,
Ill Omens, and ill Sights removes out of thy way.

At thy appearance, Grief it self is said,
        To shake his Wings, and rowse his Head.
        And cloudy care has often took
A gentle beamy Smile reflected from thy Look.

At thy appearance, Fear it self grows bold;
        Thy Sun-shine melts away his Cold.
        Encourag’d at the sight of Thee,
To the cheek Colour comes, and firmness to the knee.

Even Lust the Master of a hardned Face,
        Blushes if thou beest in the place,
        To darkness’ Curtains he retires,
In Sympathizing Night he rowls his smoaky Fires.

When, Goddess, thou liftst up thy wakened Head,
        Out of the Mornings purple bed,
        Thy Quire of Birds about thee play,
And all the joyful world salutes the rising day.

The Ghosts, and Monster Spirits, that did presume
        A Bodies Priv’lege to assume,
        Vanish again invisibly,
And Bodies gain agen their visibility.

All the Worlds bravery that delights our Eyes
        Is but thy sev’ral Liveries,
        Thou the Rich Dy on them bestowest,
Thy nimble Pencil Paints this Landskape as thou go’st.

A Crimson Garment in the Rose thou wear’st;
        A Crown of studded Gold thou bear’st,
        The ****** Lillies in their White,
Are clad but with the Lawn of almost Naked Light.

The Violet, springs little Infant, stands,
        Girt in thy purple Swadling-bands:
        On the fair Tulip thou dost dote;
Thou cloath’st it in a gay and party-colour’d Coat.

With Flame condenst thou dost the Jewels fix,
        And solid Colours in it mix:
        Flora her self envyes to see
Flowers fairer then her own, and durable as she.

Ah, Goddess! would thou could’st thy hand withhold,
        And be less Liberall to Gold;
        Didst thou less value to it give,
Of how much care (alas) might’st thou poor Man relieve!

To me the Sun is more delighful farr,
        And all fair Dayes much fairer are.
        But few, ah wondrous few there be,
Who do not Gold preferr, O Goddess, ev’n to Thee.

Through the soft wayes of Heaven, and Air, and Sea,
        Which open all their Pores to Thee;
        Like a cleer River thou dost glide,
And with thy Living Stream through the close Channels slide.

But where firm Bodies thy free course oppose,
        Gently thy source the Land oreflowes;
        Takes there possession, and does make,
Of Colours mingled, Light, a thick and standing Lake.

But the vast Ocean of unbounded Day
        In th’ EmpyrÆan Heaven does stay.
        Thy Rivers, Lakes, and Springs below
From thence took first their Rise, thither at last must Flow.

Among the taller wood with ivy hung,
The old fox plays and dances round her young.
She snuffs and barks if any passes by
And swings her tail and turns prepared to fly.
The horseman hurries by, she bolts to see,
And turns agen, from danger never free.
If any stands she runs among the poles
And barks and snaps and drive them in the holes.
The shepherd sees them and the boy goes by
And gets a stick and progs the hole to try.
They get all still and lie in safety sure,
And out again when everything’s secure,
And start and snap at blackbirds bouncing by
To fight and catch the great white butterfly.

The ladye she stood at her lattice high,
Wi' her doggie at her feet;
Thorough the lattice she can spy
The passers in the street,

"There's one that standeth at the door,
And tirleth at the pin:
Now speak and say, my popinjay,
If I sall let him in."

Then up and spake the popinjay
That flew abune her head:
"*** let him in that tirls the pin:
He cometh thee to wed."

O when he cam' the parlour in,
A woeful man was he!
"And dinna ye ken your lover agen,
Sae well that loveth thee?"

"And how *** I ken ye loved me, Sir,
That have been sae lang away?
And how *** I ken ye loved me, Sir?
Ye never telled me sae."

Said - "Ladye dear," and the salt, salt tear
Cam' rinnin' doon his cheek,
"I have sent the tokens of my love
This many and many a week.

"O didna ye get the rings, Ladye,
The rings o' the gowd sae fine?
I wot that I have sent to thee
Four score, four score and nine."

"They cam' to me," said that fair ladye.
"Wow, they were flimsie things!"
Said - "that chain o' gowd, my doggie to howd,
It is made o' thae self-same rings."

"And didna ye get the locks, the locks,
The locks o' my ain black hair,
Whilk I sent by post, whilk I sent by box,
Whilk I sent by the carrier?"

"They cam' to me," said that fair ladye;
"And I prithee send nae mair!"
Said - "that cushion sae red, for my doggie's head,
It is stuffed wi' thae locks o' hair."

"And didna ye get the letter, Ladye,
Tied wi' a silken string,
Whilk I sent to thee frae the far countrie,
A message of love to bring?"

"It cam' to me frae the far countrie
Wi' its silken string and a';
But it wasna prepaid," said that high-born maid,
"Sae I gar'd them tak' it awa'."

"O ever alack that ye sent it back,
It was written sae clerkly and well!
Now the message it brought, and the boon that it sought,
I must even say it mysel'."

Then up and spake the popinjay,
Sae wisely counselled he.
"Now say it in the proper way:
*** doon upon thy knee!"

The lover he turned baith red and pale,
Went doon upon his knee:
"O Ladye, hear the waesome tale
That must be told to thee!

"For five lang years, and five lang years,
I coorted thee by looks;
By nods and winks, by smiles and tears,
As I had read in books.

"For ten lang years, O weary hours!
I coorted thee by signs;
By sending game, by sending flowers,
By sending Valentines.

"For five lang years, and five lang years,
I have dwelt in the far countrie,
Till that thy mind should be inclined
Mair tenderly to me.

"Now thirty years are gane and past,
I am come frae a foreign land:
I am come to tell thee my love at last -
O Ladye, gie me thy hand!"

The ladye she turned not pale nor red,
But she smiled a pitiful smile:
"Sic' a coortin' as yours, my man," she said
"Takes a lang and a weary while!"

And out and laughed the popinjay,
A laugh of bitter scorn:
"A coortin' done in sic' a way,
It ought not to be borne!"

Wi' that the doggie barked aloud,
And up and doon he ran,
And tugged and strained his chain o' gowd,
All for to bite the man.

"O hush thee, gentle popinjay!
O hush thee, doggie dear!
There is a word I fain *** say,
It needeth he should hear!"

Aye louder screamed that ladye fair
To drown her doggie's bark:
Ever the lover shouted mair
To make that ladye hark:

Shrill and more shrill the popinjay
Upraised his angry squall:
I trow the doggie's voice that day
Was louder than them all!

The serving-men and serving-maids
Sat by the kitchen fire:
They heard sic' a din the parlour within
As made them much admire.

Out spake the boy in buttons
(I ween he wasna thin),
"Now wha will tae the parlour ***,
And stay this deadlie din?"

And they have taen a kerchief,
Casted their kevils in,
For wha will tae the parlour ***,
And stay that deadlie din.

When on that boy the kevil fell
To stay the fearsome noise,
"*** in," they cried, "whate'er betide,
Thou prince of button-boys!"

Syne, he has taen a supple cane
To swinge that dog sae fat:
The doggie yowled, the doggie howled
The louder aye for that.

Syne, he has taen a mutton-bane -
The doggie ceased his noise,
And followed doon the kitchen stair
That prince of button-boys!

Then sadly spake that ladye fair,
Wi' a frown upon her brow:
"O dearer to me is my sma' doggie
Than a dozen sic' as thou!

"Nae use, nae use for sighs and tears:
Nae use at all to fret:
Sin' ye've bided sae well for thirty years,
Ye may bide a wee langer yet!"

Sadly, sadly he crossed the floor
And tirled at the pin:
Sadly went he through the door
Where sadly he cam' in.

"O gin I had a popinjay
To fly abune my head,
To tell me what I ought to say,
I had by this been wed.

"O gin I find anither ladye,"
He said wi' sighs and tears,
"I wot my coortin' sall not be
Anither thirty years

"For gin I find a ladye gay,
Exactly to my taste,
I'll pop the question, aye or nay,
In twenty years at maist."

What have I done for you,
  England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
  England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
  As the Song on your bugles blown,
    England--
  Round the world on your bugles blown!

Where shall the watchful sun,
  England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
  England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
  To the Song on your bugles blown,
    England--
  Down the years on your bugles blown?

Ever the faith endures,
  England, my England:--
'Take and break us: we are yours,
  England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
  To the Song on your bugles blown,
    England--
  To the stars on your bugles blown!'

They call you proud and hard,
  England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
  England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
  Were the Song on your bugles blown,
    England,
  Round the Pit on your bugles blown!

Mother of Ships whose might,
  England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
  England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There 's the menace of the Word
  In the Song on your bugles blown,
    England--
  Out of heaven on your bugles blown!

Summer pleasures they are gone like to visions every one
And the cloudy days of autumn and of winter cometh on
I tried to call them back but unbidden they are gone
Far away from heart and eye and for ever far away
Dear heart and can it be that such raptures meet decay
I thought them all eternal when by Langley Bush I lay
I thought them joys eternal when I used to shout and play
On its bank at ‘clink and bandy’ ‘chock’ and ‘taw’ and
    ducking stone
Where silence sitteth now on the wild heath as her own
Like a ruin of the past all alone

When I used to lie and sing by old eastwells boiling spring
When I used to tie the willow boughs together for a ’swing’
And fish with crooked pins and thread and never catch a
    thing
With heart just like a feather—now as heavy as a stone
When beneath old lea close oak I the bottom branches broke
To make our harvest cart like so many working folk
And then to cut a straw at the brook to have a soak
O I never dreamed of parting or that trouble had a sting
Or that pleasures like a flock of birds would ever take to
    wing
Leaving nothing but a little naked spring

When jumping time away on old cross berry way
And eating awes like sugar plumbs ere they had lost the may
And skipping like a leveret before the peep of day
On the rolly polly up and downs of pleasant swordy well
When in round oaks narrow lane as the south got black again
We sought the hollow ash that was shelter from the rain
With our pockets full of peas we had stolen from the grain
How delicious was the dinner time on such a showry day
O words are poor receipts for what time hath stole away
The ancient pulpit trees and the play

When for school oer ‘little field’ with its brook and wooden
    brig
Where I swaggered like a man though I was not half so big
While I held my little plough though twas but a willow twig
And drove my team along made of nothing but a name
‘Gee hep’ and ‘hoit’ and ‘woi’—O I never call to mind
These pleasant names of places but I leave a sigh behind
While I see the little mouldywharps hang sweeing to the wind
On the only aged willow that in all the field remains
And nature hides her face where theyre sweeing in their
    chains
And in a silent murmuring complains

Here was commons for the hills where they seek for
    freedom still
Though every commons gone and though traps are set to ****
The little homeless miners—O it turns my ***** chill
When I think of old ’sneap green’ puddocks nook and hilly
    snow
Where bramble bushes grew and the daisy gemmed in dew
And the hills of silken grass like to cushions to the view
When we threw the pissmire crumbs when we’s nothing
    else to do
All leveled like a desert by the never weary plough
All vanished like the sun where that cloud is passing now
All settled here for ever on its brow

I never thought that joys would run away from boys
Or that boys would change their minds and forsake such
    summer joys
But alack I never dreamed that the world had other toys
To petrify first feelings like the fable into stone
Till I found the pleasure past and a winter come at last
Then the fields were sudden bare and the sky got overcast
And boyhoods pleasing haunts like a blossom in the blast
Was shrivelled to a withered **** and trampled down and
    done
Till vanished was the morning spring and set that summer
    sun
And winter fought her battle strife and won

By Langley bush I roam but the bush hath left its hill
On cowper green I stray tis a desert strange and chill
And spreading lea close oak ere decay had penned its will
To the axe of the spoiler and self interest fell a prey
And cross berry way and old round oaks narrow lane
With its hollow trees like pulpits I shall never see again
Inclosure like a Buonaparte let not a thing remain
It levelled every bush and tree and levelled every hill
And hung the moles for traitors—though the brook is
    running still
It runs a naked brook cold and chill

O had I known as then joy had left the paths of men
I had watched her night and day besure and never slept agen
And when she turned to go O I’d caught her mantle then
And wooed her like a lover by my lonely side to stay
Aye knelt and worshipped on as love in beautys bower
And clung upon her smiles as a bee upon her flower
And gave her heart my poesys all cropt in a sunny hour
As keepsakes and pledges to fade away
But love never heeded to treasure up the may
So it went the comon road with decay

The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside
The battered road; and spreading far and wide
Above the russet clods, the corn is seen
Sprouting its spiry points of tender green,
Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake,
Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break.
Opening their golden caskets to the sun,
The buttercups make schoolboys eager run,
To see who shall be first to pluck the prize—
Up from their hurry, see, the skylark flies,
And o’er her half-formed nest, with happy wings
Winnows the air, till in the cloud she sings,
Then hangs a dust-spot in the sunny skies,
And drops, and drops, till in her nest she lies,
Which they unheeded passed—not dreaming then
That birds which flew so high would drop agen
To nests upon the ground, which anything
May come at to destroy. Had they the wing
Like such a bird, themselves would be too proud,
And build on nothing but a passing cloud!
As free from danger as the heavens are free
From pain and toil, there would they build and be,
And sail about the world to scenes unheard
Of and unseen—Oh, were they but a bird!
So think they, while they listen to its song,
And smile and fancy and so pass along;
While its low nest, moist with the dews of morn,
Lies safely, with the leveret, in the corn.

Such a lack of inspiration cant be possible right?
Am I broken?
Wait, I'm thinking of motivation,
I cant remember not being inspired,
If i could just stand up and start moving, start acting on these thoughts, these ideas, these urges...
The resources are here, there is no fear, no shame, it all feels like a game,
When the perfect moment arises to execute, I have other things in my sights,
All of these questions need answers, and so a search is set,
But the sun starts to set and my job hasn't been completed,
hell I have yet to start, where do I begin?

What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Round the world on your bugles blown!

Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Down the years on your bugles blown?

Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:--
'Take and break us:  we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England--
'To the stars on your bugles blown!

They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!

Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!

i'm spacey i'm astral out of my body
out of my mind unable to conn
ect to this world and it's sys
tems begging the cosmos
to restore within me a fir
e for life a hunger for other hu
man beings i often wonder abo
ut the urge to touch some
one tenderly or my lack thereof
i am unable to connect to this
world and it's systems it's worth
less paper everyone mani
festing their biological agen
das when i'm not looking mine
leaks out of my pores like sweat
i can't help but see through th
eir motive charged words but
you have potential i want your
soul not your flesh i want to vib
rate in an alternate reality with
you i want to die and be reborn
with you i wanna chew a hole
through the wall of the ameri
can psychosis rat race for
you i am awake shak
ing your body i am
unable to connect
to this world
and it's
systems

just wna feel ur body heat on me
my mind is dosed in dumb ****
just wna stroke ur cheek agen

The knife is over her wrist
Once agen
She chickened out
Nomoruse times before
"Life means as much as the person"
She whispers"and from what you say I mean less than
The food I eat" the cafeteria was watching this girl
Most had no idea who she was
No idea why tears dropped on her wrist
Only to be washed away by the crimson blood
Eyes flew to the boy that was standing
In paralyzed ****
A month ago he brag of getting into her pants
But he was not the first
Far from it

The few who knew her
Remembered how they call her a ***** and *****
On nothing more than the words of *** crazed boys
Who Say how they "taped that ****"

And silence ended as the knife dropped to the ground
Along with the boy who tries to hold her up right
But it was over
The boy to confused to know to apply presser  
The crowed in compleat anarchy
But none will forget her last words "I'm sorry"

She doesn't even get a dramatic rush from the ambulance.
And worst of all
none will forgive them self
that she died a ******

Its been s0 l0ng
Maybe too l0ng..

There's always been a reason
For mY being..

Love has brought me too much pain

Trust in n0 one I'm able t0 gain

Em0ti0nless
Loveless
Is da way I wanna stay..

Feeling for an0ther
Causes too much pain

This way I stay free
Its always just about Me
The hurt
Will neva agen be..

Can u see what I mean..

I'm trying to sAve mE!

Hey you, yes you the ***** in the red Jetta
Rather get a cab walk run it will be betta
What are you doing are you totally insane
Driving behind you is an endless pain

I cant over take you cause you cant decide
Can't go around you and no where to hide
Should you pull left or stay to the right
Holding my anger is becoming a fight

Just stay calm while my searing I bite
Like other ding bats he has the right
To buy a licence to drive a car
Like so many drivers he makes me naar

Now here comes a robot and look it is red
I watch in horror are you gonna stop dead
What are you doing look infront I yell
You nut case you idiot myself I do tell

Not throwing a fit is taking all my resistance
It takes my fast thinking to keep my distance
He breaks and he swerve and sways to the right
I say a quick pray as I gasp with fright

Head on into traffic thats coming his way
This way and that he swerves and sways
Oh wait a minute he dodge the Van
And the kids on the pavement left and right ran

Just missed the buss and a bush and a tree
Whippy I'm luck his back infront of me
Screeching and screaming and coming to a halt
He looks and he smiles like nothing's his fault

Others around him look on in dismay
As I think you idiot, you made it hooray
And away we go were on our way
I think should I drive or should I stay

Not even a second a metre a head
He comes to a halt and stops dead
Looking around like his lost or confused
Now I am irritated I'm not amused

What is he looking for what indeed
I scream to my self, with my self I plead
Oh it's a phone call its become so intense
We are all waiting move along no offence

If I should get out and my lid I should blow
I want you to listen I want you to know
I'll loose my insanity I'll rip of your door
I'll beat you black and blue and extensively sore

Oh thank crap the ****** bags on his way
This is starting out as a horrific day
He just keeps chatting and babbling along
Why can't he see what his doing is wrong

The guy in the Audi is ranting and raging
The guy in the Opel is totally fuming
The little old lady just looks on with confusion
This guy is living in a mental dilution

I look on intensely what could be next
I try to keep calm and put my nerves to rest
Wait a second what did he see
Ah come on man not again I plea

The chop just woke up and realised
He should of been on the other side
That was the street that he needed to take
Oh please help me for pity's sake

The little old lady on his left saw it to
She looks frightened and turns pail blue
I just look on and I think to myself
This cant be good for her mind and health

On goes the hazards and he darts to the left
The ******* around me are making me deaf
The guy in the Audi has lost his cool
He thew a spanner or some other tool

The guy in the Jetta drives happily along
Sing away to some lively song
He seems oblivious with out any care
That the little old lady is pulling out her hair

She looks like she had a seize of sort
Shaking and screaming like bull she snorts
The guy in the Audi is 5 shades of red
But the guy in the Jetta keeps moving a head

Out of the blue who knows from where
His moving along with no worry or care
Appears a stop sign in front of his car
He hits the breaks and skids on the tar

The little old lady pink buggy and all
Rolls up tightly into a little ball
How she missed him I'll never know
She quietly sits there with an evil glow

To my dismay she opens her door
And falls to her knees just there on the floor
The guy in the Jetta gives a big smile
As the little old lady falls down in a pile

She's kicking and screaming and going insane
She's up in an instant and out with her cane
She fly's at the guy sitting as stiff as can be
Eyes bulging widly this **** you should see

He lets out a scream like a ***** been attacked
And jumps on his pedal and doesn't look back
His over the stop street and round the next bend
I just pray I'll never see him agen

I look at the lady who looks back at me
Oh what a pittyfull site did I see
She was a mess and her hair was a tangled
Eyes where a flamed and her dress was mangled

She put on a smile and she straightened her hair
Brushed of her dresses and did it with flare
She turn on her heel as she head for her car
This was one of my worst days by far

in

THE TRAVELING LIFELONG BUSH POET


SHE WAS MY MOTHER ( and yes I loved her dearly )
She Was ... MY MOTHER
A woman I once Knew ..
A woman of multiple personalities ..

She was the best of the best
And the worst of the worst~
She traveled all over
And quenched every thirst~
When somethen was over
She d move on agen~
And only return
When and if she got the yen~
She d say what she thought
And nomatter to whom~
One could never miss her
Even in a crowded room~
She d do as she pleased
And no matter what~
She was always herself
If they liked it or not~
Full of surprises
And one could never guess~
What wonderful things
She d make out of a mess~
When one thought they had her
They never had her at all~
Come rain or come shine
She always had a ball~
She lived her life to the limit
Come day or come night~
And when she made a statement
She was usually right~
She could dance she could love
She could see in the dark~
One vibrant woman
Who was always a spark~
She left no stone unturned
Missed nothen at all~
Nomatter who ever downed her
She always stood tall~
Everyone loved her so
And they hated her too~
That was everyone she met
And that was more than a few~
She spread so much laughter
And thrived on pure hell~
Nobody ever forgot her
They all knew her too well~
She could take anything on
And just as easy throw it away~
And go on regardless and
Live well another day~
She was all that she said she was
So she d say with pride~
She could welcome you home
And just as easy cast you aside~
There was more to this woman
Than anyone ever knew~
She could tell you a lie
And prove it was true~
She d play out a fantassy
And make it become real~
She had her own charisma
Never ever hid how she d feel~
She could sing like an angel
And then steal your heart~
and once she had gotten it
She d rip it apart~
Nobody ever owned her
She was her own soul~
She could act like a child
Or a woman so very old~
In her life she lived several lifetimes
And lived them all well~
She had her own brand of religion
And rang her own bell~
Everyone that knew her
They never ever knew why~
She could make so very happy
And then give you reason to cry~

( BUT I LOVED HER )

Terrence Michael Sutton
copyright 1988.

She Was ...

MY MUM ..

She was the best of the best
And the worst of the worst~
She traveled all over
And quenched every thirst~
When somethen was over
She d move on agen~
And only return
When and if she got the yen~
She d say what she thought
And nomatter to whom~
One could never miss her
Even in a crowded room~
She d do as she pleased
And no matter what~
She was always herself
If they liked it or not~
Full of surprises
And one could never guess~
What wonderful things
She d make out of a mess~
When one thought they had her
They never had her at all~
Come rain or come shine
She always had a ball~
She lived her life to the limit
Come day or come night~
And when she made a statement
She was usually right~
She could dance she could love
She could see in the dark~
One vibrant woman
Who was always a spark~
She left no stone unturned
Missed nothen at all~
Nomatter who ever downed her
She always stood tall~
Everyone loved her so
And they hated her too~
That was everyone she met
And that was more than a few~
She spread so much laughter
And thrived on pure hell~
Nobody ever forgot her
They all knew her too well~
She could take anything on
And just as easy throw it away~
And go on regardless and
Live well another day~
She was all that she said she was
So she d say with pride~
She could welcome you home
And just as easy cast you aside~
There was more to this woman
Than anyone ever knew~
She could tell you a lie
And prove it was true~
She d play out a fantassy
And make it become real~
She had her own charisma
Never ever hid how she d feel~
She could sing like an angel
And then steal your heart~
and once she had gotten it
She d rip it apart~
Nobody ever owned her
She was her own soul~
She could act like a child
Or a woman so very old~
In her life she lived several lifetimes
And lived them all well~
She had her own brand of religion
And rang her own bell~
Everyone that knew her
They never ever knew why~
She could make so very happy
And then give you reason to cry~


Terrence Michael Sutton
copyright First written 1964 ..

Learnen To Remember,Learnen To Forget

( ANOTHER OF MY UNSUNG SONGS)

Learnen to remember
Learnen to forget~
Soughten out the memories
Ive had since we first met~
Some Id rather cast aside
Others hold my heart~
Some are just the reasons why
We two drifted apart~
First I smile and then I cry
The reasons for the day~
But I know I wouldnt feel so bad
If the pain would go away~
Now Im learnen to remember
And learnen to forget~
Soughten out all the memories
Ive had since we first met~
Just sitten on this hollow log
Thinken of back when~
I used to have you by my sise
Wished I could agen~
Sometimes it seems so long ago
Others ... Just yesterday
I just lose track of time my love
Since the time you went away~
We grow old and we grow wiser
As life goes on its true~
There comes a time old love of mine
When theres nothing we can do~
You will always be a part of me
You ll always be on my mind~
But you still invade my dreams
This is why it is I find'
Im learning to remember
And Im learning to forget~
Just soughting out all these memories
Ive had since we first met~ '.

Terrence Michael Sutton
copyright  1988 ( 2018 )

She Was ...

MY MUM ..

She was the best of the best
And the worst of the worst~
She traveled all over
And quenched every thirst~
When somethen was over
She d move on agen~
And only return
When and if she got the yen~
She d say what she thought
And nomatter to whom~
One could never miss her
Even in a crowded room~
She d do as she pleased
And no matter what~
She was always herself
If they liked it or not~
Full of surprises
And one could never guess~
What wonderful things
She d make out of a mess~
When one thought they had her
They never had her at all~
Come rain or come shine
She always had a ball~
She lived her life to the limit
Come day or come night~
And when she made a statement
She was usually right~
She could dance she could love
She could see in the dark~
One vibrant woman
Who was always a spark~
She left no stone unturned
Missed nothen at all~
Nomatter who ever downed her
She always stood tall~
Everyone loved her so
And they hated her too~
That was everyone she met
And that was more than a few~
She spread so much laughter
And thrived on pure hell~
Nobody ever forgot her
They all knew her too well~
She could take anything on
And just as easy throw it away~
And go on regardless and
Live well another day~
She was all that she said she was
So she d say with pride~
She could welcome you home
And just as easy cast you aside~
There was more to this woman
Than anyone ever knew~
She could tell you a lie
And prove it was true~
She d play out a fantassy
And make it become real~
She had her own charisma
Never ever hid how she d feel~
She could sing like an angel
And then steal your heart~
and once she had gotten it
She d rip it apart~
Nobody ever owned her
She was her own soul~
She could act like a child
Or a woman so very old~
In her life she lived several lifetimes
And lived them all well~
She had her own brand of religion
And rang her own bell~
Everyone that knew her
They never ever knew why~
She could make so very happy
And then give you reason to cry~

From her I inherited her clarevoyance
  and it can be a pain in the ar....se )


Terrence Michael Sutton
copyright 1969  ( here 2018 )

She Was ... MY MOTHER
A woman I once Knew ..
(TRUE but a song written as sung)

She was the best of the best
And the worst of the worst~
She traveled all over
And quenched every thirst~
When somethen was over
She d move on agen~
And only return
When and if she got the yen~
She d say what she thought
And no matter to whom~
One could never miss her
Even in a crowded room~
She d do as she pleased
And no matter what~
She was always herself
If they liked it or not~
Full of surprises
And one could never guess~
What wonderful things
She d make out of a mess~
When one thought they had her
They never had her at all~
Come rain or come shine
She always had a ball~
She lived her life to the limit
Come day or come night~
And when she made a statement
She was usually right~
She could dance she could love
She could see in the dark~
One vibrant woman
Who was always a spark~
She left no stone unturned
Missed nothen at all~
No matter who ever downed her
She always stood tall~
Everyone loved her so
And they hated her too~
That was everyone she met
And that was more than a few~
She spread so much laughter
And thrived on pure hell~
Nobody ever forgot her
They all knew her too well~
She could take anything on
And just as easy throw it away~
And go on regardless and
Live well another day~
She was all that she said she was
So she d say with pride~
She could welcome you home
And just as easy cast you aside~
There was more to this woman
Than anyone ever knew~
She could tell you a lie
And prove it was true~
She d play out a fantasy
And make it become real~
She had her own charisma
Never ever hid how she d feel~
She could sing like an angel
And then steal your heart~
and once she had gotten it
She d rip it apart~
Nobody ever owned her
She was her own soul~
She could act like a child
Or a woman so very old~
In her life she lived several lifetimes
And lived them all well~
She had her own brand of religion
And rang her own bell~
Everyone that knew her
They never ever knew why~
She could make so very happy
And then give you reason to cry~

( BUT I LOVED HER )

Terrence Michael Sutton
copyright 1988.

( ANOTHER OF MY UNSUNG SONGS)

Learnen to remember
Learnen to forget~
Soughten out the memories
Ive had since we first met~
Some Id rather cast aside
Others hold my heart~
Some are just the reasons why
We two drifted apart~
First I smile and then I cry
The reasons for the day~
But I know I wouldnt feel so bad
If the pain would go away~
Now Im learnen to remember
And learnen to forget~
Soughten out all the memories
Ive had since we first met~
Just sitten on this hollow log
Thinken of back when~
I used to have you by my sise
Wished I could agen~
Sometimes it seems so long ago
Others ... Just yesterday
I just lose track of time my love
Since the time you went away~
We grow old and we grow wiser
As life goes on its true~
There comes a time old love of mine
When theres nothing we can do~
You will always be a part of me
You ll always be on my mind~
But you still invade my dreams
This is why it is I find'
Im learning to remember
And Im learning to forget~
Just soughting out all these memories
Ive had since we first met~ '.

Terrence Michael Sutton
copyright  2018

A lone camp site by a slowly flowing river
Situated under large and shady tree~
A bed roll in a soft protected spot
An old much loved dog for company~
The quart *** can upon the fire simmering
Coffee hot again real soon~
A starlit night almost upon him
And again that largest yellow moon~
A mouth ***** to play old tunes upon
To bring back a memory of back aways~
His horse and pack horse in makeshift yard
He had come here before in earlier days~
A place to simply meditate about his life
To spend some time alone~
And get back to being just himself
All upon his own~
Old *** n fry pan for cooking
Supplies he has along~
An old cowboys meditation
Just like in an old time song~
Life has had him slightly up a creek
As if up there without a paddle~
All an old cow poke only needs most of all
Is his boots his horse and saddle~
Sleeping with his old hat over eyes
Rolling a smoke every now and then~
A few days away from the daily grind
He does this every now and agen~
Gives him time to think about
How times have changed so much it seems~
An old cowboys meditation
To reconsider a few old dreams~

Terrence Michael Sutton
Copyright 2008