Poem by Madison Julius Cawein

At the Stile

Young Harry leapt over the stile and kissed her,
 Over the stile the stars a-winking;
He thought it was Mary, 't was Mary's sister
 And love hath a way of thinking.

"Thy pail, sweetheart, I will take and carry."
 Over the stile the stars hang yellow.
"Just to the spring, my sweetheart Harry."
 And love is a heartless fellow.

"Thou saidst me yea when the frost did shower
 Over the stile from stars a-shiver."
"I say thee nay now the cherry-trees flower,
 And love is taker and giver."

"O false! thou art false to me, sweetheart!"
 Over the stile the stars a-glister.
"To thee, the stars, and myself, sweetheart,
 I never was aught save Mary's sister.

"Sweet Mary's sister and thou my Harry,
 Her Harry and mine, but mine the weeping:
In a month or twain you two will marry
 And I in my grave be sleeping."

Alone among the meadows of millet,
 Over the stile the stars pursuing,
Some tears in her pail as she stoops to fill it
 And love hath a way of doing.

1. An Anemone
2. Unattainable
3. Rembrandts
4. The Town Witch
5. Answered

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