Classic Poem

I

I t is the thirty-first of March,
A gusty evening — half-past seven;
The moon is shining o'er the larch,
A simple shape — a cock'd-up arch,
Rising bigger than a star,
Though the stars are thick in Heaven

II

Gentle moon! how canst thou shine
Over graves and over trees,
With as innocent a look
As my own grey eyeball sees,
When I gaze upon a brook?

III

Od's me! how the moon doth shine:
It doth make a pretty glitter,
Playing in the waterfall;
As when Lucy Gray doth litter
Her baby-house with bugles small.

IV

Beneath the ever blessed moon
An old man o'er an old grave stares,
You never look'd upon his fellow;
His brow is covered with grey hairs,
As though they were an umbrella.

V

He hath a noticeable look,
This old man hath — this grey old man;
He gazes at the graves, and seems,
With over waiting, over wan,
Like Susan Harvey's pan of creams.

VI

'T is Peter Bell — 't is Peter Bell,
Who never stirreth in the day;
His hand is wither'd — he is old!
On Sundays he is us'd to pray,
In winter he is very cold.

VII

I've seen him in the month of August,
At the wheatfield, hour by hour,
Picking ear, — by ear, — by ear, —
Through wind, — and rain, — and sun, — and shower,
From year, — to year, — to year, — to year.

VIII

You never saw a wiser man,
He knows his Numeration Table;
He counts the sheep of Harry Gill,
Every night that he is able,
When the sheep are on the hill.

IX

Betty Foy — My Betty Foy, —
Is the aunt of Peter Bell;
And credit me, as I would have you,
Simon Lee was once his nephew,
And his niece is Alice Fell.

X

He is rurally related;
Peter Bell hath country cousins,
(He had once a worthy mother)
Bells and Peters by the dozens,
But Peter Bell he hath no brother.

XI

Not a brother owneth he,
Peter Bell he hath no brother,
His mother had no other son,
No other son e'er call'd her mother;
Peter Bell hath brother none.