Poems (Probyn)/Pansies

by May Probyn

For works with similar titles, see Pansies.

PANSIES.

I met a little maid in garden gay—
 She turned from me, and stopped to gather pansies,
The cuckoo called aloud—the month was May—
 Her heart brimful of tender little fancies.
I said "Well met, dear maid, this summer day!"
 She looked at me with earnest little glances—
"What do you, Sir, within my garden gay?"
 And then she turned again to gather pansies.

"One flower," I said, "dear maid, one flower, I pray!"
 Bright butterflies flew by in airy dances—
She smiled a little smile of half-delay—
 The cuckoo shrilled—Ah me, for lover's chances!
"My flowers " she said, "are blowing every way,
 My gilliflowers, my cowslips, and sweet Nancies—
Take what you will in all my garden gay,
 But leave me, Sir, beseech you, these my pansies!"

Her eyes she drooped, as droops the sea-bloom's spray
 Among the rocks before the tide advances—
Then sighed a little sigh, with thoughts astray,
 And lost herself in sober little trances.
The cuckoo called—Ah me, for love at play,
 For lover's love, that lived in old romances!
I parted from her in her garden gay,
 And left her there still gathering her pansies.