Classic Poem

(Ballade)

Deep in the green woods yesterday
I, wandering, heard the sweet birds sing:
The nightingale, clear-voiced alway,
And yet more clear the lark on wing.
Returning to my shepherding,
A song came through the trees to me
From maids their fair heads garlanding:
It was the prettiest of the three.

Passing beneath the trees I found
Elise and Marion and Margot
Deep-shadowed where the leaves abound
Singing beneath a hawthorn's snow.
I named them each, and, bowing low,
I prayed and prayed their loves' mercy.
And one made answer to me, " No. "
It was the prettiest of the three.

So, standing where the soft shade showers,
My flask full filled with sorrow's wine,
Watching them pluck the gay spring flowers,
I prayed them for me flowers to twine.
Beneath the hawthorn's shade benign
One's small hand stole in secrecy
And placed a bunch of flowers in mine.
It was the prettiest of the three.

" And is it so, my shepherd maids?
So unto you I say good-bye.
Too proud are ye for these fair glades. "
Then one made answer with a sigh,
And with a sprig of rosemary
Said, " Robinet, return to me
On Monday. " Then I caught her eye.
It was the prettiest of the three.

O nightingale, sweet messenger,
Sing on beneath the starlit sky
And with thy clear voice say to her
That here without her I must die,
And life for ever from me fly,
Whilst pallid Death my corpse shall see.
Fair maid, whom once I loved, good-bye:
I hear the prettiest of the three.