Poem by Alice Meynell

The Joyous Wanderer

 Translated from M. Catulle Mendès

I go by road, I go by street—
        Lira, la, la!
O white highways, ye know my feet!
A loaf I carry and, all told,
Three broad bits of lucky gold—
        Lira, la, la!
And O within my flowering heart,
(Sing, dear nightingale!) is my Sweet.

A poor man met me and begged for bread—
        Lira, la, la!
"Brother, take all the loaf," I said,
I shall but go with lighter cheer—
        Lira, la, la!
And O within my flowering heart
(Sing, sweet nightingale!) is my Dear.

A thief I met on the lonely way—
        Lira, la, la!
He took my gold; I cried to him, "Stay!
And take my pocket and make an end."
        Lira, la, la!
And O within my flowering heart
(Sing, soft nightingale!) is my Friend.

Now on the plain I have met with death—
        Lira, la, la!
My bread is gone, my gold, my breath.
But O this heart is not afraid—
        Lira, la, la!
For O within this lonely heart
(Sing, sad nightingale!) is my Maid.

1. Free Will
2. Beyond Knowledge
3. To O——, of Her Dark Eyes
4. In Sleep
5. The Two Questions

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