Poems (Jackson)/My Tenants
NEVER had a title-deedTo my estate. But little heedEyes give to me, when I walk byMy fields, to see who occupy.Some clumsy men who lease and hireAnd cut my trees to feed their fire,Own all the land that I possess,And tax my tenants to distress.And if I said I had been first,And, reaping, left for them the worst,That they were beggars at the handsOf dwellers on my royal lands,With idle laugh of passing scornAs unto words of madness born,They would reply.They would reply.I do not care;They cannot crowd the charmèd air;They cannot touch the bonds I holdOn all that they have bought and sold.They can waylay my faithful bees,Who, lulled to sleep, with fatal ease,Are robbed. Is one day's honey sweetThus snatched? All summer round my feetIn golden drifts from plumy wings,In shining drops on fragrant things,Free gift, it came to me. My corn,With burnished banners, morn by morn, Comes out to meet and honor me;The glittering ranks spread royallyFar as I walk. When hasty greedTramples it down for food and seed,I, with a certain veiled delight,Hear half the crop is lost by blight.Letter of law these may fulfil,Plant where they like, slay what they will,Count up their gains and make them great;Nevertheless, the whole estateAlways belongs to me and mine.We are the only royal line.And though I have no title-deedMy tenants pay me loyal heedWhen our sweet fields I wander byTo see what strangers occupy.
MY TENANTS.
NEVER had a title-deedTo my estate. But little heedEyes give to me, when I walk byMy fields, to see who occupy.Some clumsy men who lease and hireAnd cut my trees to feed their fire,Own all the land that I possess,And tax my tenants to distress.And if I said I had been first,And, reaping, left for them the worst,That they were beggars at the handsOf dwellers on my royal lands,With idle laugh of passing scornAs unto words of madness born,They would reply.They would reply.I do not care;They cannot crowd the charmèd air;They cannot touch the bonds I holdOn all that they have bought and sold.They can waylay my faithful bees,Who, lulled to sleep, with fatal ease,Are robbed. Is one day's honey sweetThus snatched? All summer round my feetIn golden drifts from plumy wings,In shining drops on fragrant things,Free gift, it came to me. My corn,With burnished banners, morn by morn, Comes out to meet and honor me;The glittering ranks spread royallyFar as I walk. When hasty greedTramples it down for food and seed,I, with a certain veiled delight,Hear half the crop is lost by blight.Letter of law these may fulfil,Plant where they like, slay what they will,Count up their gains and make them great;Nevertheless, the whole estateAlways belongs to me and mine.We are the only royal line.And though I have no title-deedMy tenants pay me loyal heedWhen our sweet fields I wander byTo see what strangers occupy.