Classic Poem

I

The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
And which of the handsome young men shall it be?
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:
There is a rose that's ready;
Come, point me your finger on him that you see:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O mother, my mother, it never can be:
There is a rose that's ready;
For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:
There is a rose that's ready;
And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Tall Margaret wept bitterly;
There is a rose that's ready;
And as her parent bade did she;
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O the handsome young man dropped down on his knee;
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe's me!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

II

O mother, my mother, this thing I must say,
There is a rose in the garden;
Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay:
And the bird sings over the roses.

Now, folly, my daughter, for men are men:
There is a rose in the garden;
You marry them blindfold, I tell you again:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O mother, but when he kisses me!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, 'tis which shall sweetest be!
And the bird sings over the roses.

O mother, but when I awake in the morn!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, you are his, and the ring is worn;
And the bird sings over the roses.

Tall Margaret sighed and loosened a tress;
There is a rose in the garden;
Poor comfort she had of her comeliness;
And the bird sings over the roses.

My mother will sink if this thing be said:
There is a rose in the garden;
That my first betrothed came thrice to my bed;
And the bird sings over the roses.

He died on my shoulder the third cold night;
There is a rose in the garden;
I dragged his body all through the moonlight;
And the bird sings over the roses.

But when I came by my father's door;
There is a rose in the garden;
I fell in a lump on the stiff dead floor;
And the bird sings over the roses.

O neither to heaven, nor yet to hell;
There is a rose in the garden;
Could I follow the lover I loved so well!
And the bird sings over the roses.

III

The bridesmaids slept in their chambers apart;
There is a rose that's ready;
Tall Margaret walked with her thumping heart;
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

The frill of her nightgown below the left breast,
There is a rose that's ready;
Had fall'n like a cloud of the moonlighted West;
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

But where the West-cloud breaks to a star;
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret's breast showed a winding scar;
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O few are the brides with such a sign!
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I went mad the fault was mine;
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

I must speak to him under this roof to-night;
There is a rose that's ready;
I shall burn to death if I speak in the light;
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O my breast! I must strike you a bloodier wound;
There is a rose that's ready;
Than when I scored you red and swooned,
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

I will stab my honour under his eye;
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I bleed to the death, I shall let out the lie;
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O happy my bridesmaids! white sleep is with you!
There is a rose that's ready;
Had he chosen among you he might sleep too!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O happy my bridesmaids! your breasts are clean;
There is a rose that's ready;
You carry no mark of what has been!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

IV

An hour before the chilly beam,
Red rose and white in the garden;
The bridegroom started out of a dream,
And the bird sings over the roses.

He went to the door, and there espied
Red rose and white in the garden;
The figure of his silent bride,
And the bird sings over the roses.

He went to the door, and let her in;
Red rose and white in the garden;
Whiter looked she than a child of sin;
And the bird sings over the roses.

She looked so white, she looked so sweet;
Red rose and white in the garden;
She looked so pure he fell at her feet;
And the bird sings over the roses.

He fell at her feet with love and awe;
Red rose and white in the garden;
A stainless body of light he saw;
And the bird sings over the roses.

O Margaret, say you are not of the dead!
Red rose and white in the garden;
My bride! by the angels at night are you led?
And the bird sings over the roses.

I am not led by the angels about;
Red rose and white in the garden;
But I have a devil within to let out;
And the bird sings over the roses.

O Margaret! my bride and saint!
Red rose and white in the garden;
There is on you no earthly taint:
And the bird sings over the roses.

I am no saint, and no bride can I be,
Red rose and white in the garden;
Until I have opened my bosom to thee;
And the bird sings over the roses.

To catch at her heart she laid one hand;
Red rose and white in the garden;
She told the tale where she did stand;
And the bird sings over the roses.

She stood before him pale and tall;
Red rose and white in the garden;
Her eyes between his, she told him all;
And the bird sings over the roses.

She saw how her body grew freckled and foul;
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl;
And the bird sings over the roses.

With never a quiver her mouth did speak;
Red rose and white in the garden;
O when she had done she stood so meek!
And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom stamped and called her vile;
Red rose and white in the garden;
He did but waken a little smile;
And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom raged and called her foul;
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl;
And the bird sings over the roses.

He muttered a name full bitter and sore;
Red rose and white in the garden;
She fell in a lump on the still dead floor;
And the bird sings over the roses.

O great was the wonder, and loud the wail,
Red rose and white in the garden;
When through the household flew the tale;
And the bird sings over the roses.

The old grey mother she dressed the bier;
Red rose and white in the garden;
With a shivering chin and never a tear;
And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you but done as I bade you, my child!
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not have died and been reviled;
And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier;
Red rose and white in the garden;
He eyed the white girl thro' a dazzling tear;
And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you been false as the women who stray;
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not be now with the Angels of Day!
And the bird sings over the roses.