The Collected Poems of William H. Davies/Catharine

​

CATHARINE

We children every morn would waitFor Catharine, at the garden gate;Behind school-time, her sunny hairWould melt the master’s frown of care,What time his hand but threatened pain,Shaking aloft his awful cane;So here one summer’s morn we waitFor Catharine at the garden gate.To Dave I say—“There’s sure to beSome coral isle unknown at sea,And—if I see it first—’tis mine!But I’ll give it to Catharine.”“When she grows up,” says Dave to me,“Some ruler in a far countree,Where every voice but his is dumb,Owner of pearls, and gold, and gum,Will build for her a shining throne,Higher than his, and near his own;And he, who would not list before,Will listen to Catharine, and adoreHer face and form; and,” Dave went on—When came a man there pale and wan, ​Whose face was dark and wet though kind,He, coming there, seemed like a windWhose breath is rain, yet will not stopTo give the parchèd flowers a drop:“Go, children, to your school,” he said“And tell the master Catharine’s dead.”
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.