Poems (Probyn)/Madrigal gai

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MADRIGAL GAL
Here is the path through the hawthorn dell,Where you grew weary when twilight fell—Dear, did they matter, the faltering feet,While I could carry their burden sweet?
Here is the stile where we stopped to rest,Where you wept a little, and half-confessed—Dear, were they bitter, the tears that day,When I was there to kiss them away?
Here is the brook where you dropped your glove,While the moon climbed over the hazel grove—Dear, did they miss it, those fingers fine,When I could keep them so warm in mine?
Here is the gate where we said good-night,With the roses a-blow and the stars in sight—Dear, did it seem like a step apart,When the morn was to marry us heart with heart?
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