Classic Poem

As upland fields were sunburnt brown,
And heat-dried brooks were running small,
And sheep were gather'd, panting all,
Below the hawthorn on the down;
The while my mare, with dipping head,
Pull'd on my cart above the bridge;
I saw come on, beside the ridge,
A maiden, white in skin and thread,
And walking, with an elbow load,
The way I drove, along my road.

As there with comely steps up hill
She rose by elm-trees, all in ranks,
From shade to shade, by flow'ry banks,
Where flew the bird with whistling bill,
I kindly said, ‘Now won't you ride,
This burning weather, up the knap?
I have a seat that fits the trap,—
And now is swung from side to side.’
‘O no,’ she cried, ‘I thank you, no.
I've little farther now to go.’

Then, up the wooded slope, I found
The prettiest house a good day's ride
Would bring you by, with porch and side
By rose and jessamine well bound,
And near at hand, a spring and pool,
With lawn well sunn'd and bower cool:
And while the wicket fell behind
Her steps, I thought, if I would find
A wife I need not blush to show,
I've little farther now to go.