Poems (Probyn)/Madrigal gai

by May Probyn

MADRIGAL GAL

Here is the path through the hawthorn dell,
Where you grew weary when twilight fell—
Dear, did they matter, the faltering feet,
While I could carry their burden sweet?

Here is the stile where we stopped to rest,
Where you wept a little, and half-confessed—
Dear, were they bitter, the tears that day,
When I was there to kiss them away?

Here is the brook where you dropped your glove,
While the moon climbed over the hazel grove—
Dear, did they miss it, those fingers fine,
When I could keep them so warm in mine?

Here is the gate where we said good-night,
With the roses a-blow and the stars in sight—
Dear, did it seem like a step apart,
When the morn was to marry us heart with heart?