Classic Poem

Run, said Maid Marian,
Run, to the Page,
Hie thee o'er meadow,
And plume thee in rage,
And let thy light heart,
With sorrow split apart!

False fool that thou wert,
To make love so to me,
And claim my soft kisses,
And hope in my eye,
A Page and a boy,
Can ne'er give a maid joy. —

Then the Page spake so cheerly, —
My mistress so fine!
Thou lovest me dearly,
I truly divine,
When thou say'st thou dost need,
A man at thy heed.

And my lovely Marian!
Wilt thou believe,
That I am a man,
And I do not deceive?
How thy cheek is deep red,
And thy lip as it bled!