Classic Poem

Who was there had seen us
Wouldn't bid him run?
Heavy lay between us
All our sires had done.

There he was, a-springing
Of a pious race,
Setting hags a-swinging
In a market-place;

Sowing turnips over
Where the poppies lay;
Looking past the clover,
Adding up the hay;

Shouting through the Spring song,
Clumping down the sod;
Toadying, in sing-song,
To a crabbed god.

There I was, that came of
Folk of mud and name-
I that had my name of
Them without a name.

Up and down a mountain
Streeled my silly stock;
Passing by a fountain,
Wringing at a rock;

Devil-gotten sinners,
Throwing back their heads,
Fiddling for their dinners,
Kissing for their beds.

Not a one had seen us
Wouldn't help him flee.
Angry ran between us
Blood of him and me.

How shall I be mating
Who have looked above-
Living for a hating,
Dying of a love?