Poetry Archives

I had a love in soft south land,
  Beloved through April far in May;
He waited on my lightest breath,
  And never dared to say me nay.

He saddened if my cheer was sad,
  But gay he grew if I was gay;
We never differed on a hair,
  My yes his yes, my nay his nay.

The wedding hour was come, the aisles
  Were flushed with sun and flowers that day;
I pacing balanced in my thoughts,—
  “It’s quite too late to think of nay.”—

My bridegroom answered in his turn,
  Myself had almost answered “yea”:
When through the flashing nave I heard.
  A struggle and resounding “nay.”

Bridemaids and bridegroom shrank in fear,
  But I stood high who stood at bay:
“And if I answer yea, fair Sir,
  What man art thou to bar with nay?”

He was a strong man from the north,
  Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous gray:
“Put yea by for another time
  In which I will not say thee nay.”

He took me in his strong white arms,
  He bore me on his horse away
O’er crag, morass, and hair-breadth pass,
  But never asked me yea or nay.

He made me fast with book and bell,
  With links of love he makes me stay;
Till now I’ve neither heart nor power
  Nor will nor wish to say him nay.