Sceptic

NEW FOLKLORE

SCEPTIC

I went into an osier wood

And found the lady that I sought ;

Her eyes with fables, her lips with blood,

Her hands with lily-seed I bought.

I led her to the market-square

And cried the fates my lass to buy:

A copper penny for her hair

And for her wit a dragon-fly ;

And for her feet a silver hind

And for her throat a singing bird.

But in her eyes the blue was blind

And they would bid no single word.

No wisdom now I buy, for aught

That men or angels may devise,

Fearing its sight like hers is bought

With fables and is fed on lies.