Poem by Augusta Webster

* * *

    Tell thee truth, sweet; no.
Truth is cross and sad and cold:
     Lies are pitiful and kind,
Honey-soft as Love's own tongue:
             Let me, love, lie so.
     Lies are like a summer wind,
Wooing flower-buds to unfold
     Lies will last while men are young.
             Tell thee truth, love; no.

     Let me, sweet, lie so.
Lies are Hope's light ministers,
     Footless birds upon the wing:
Truth's a name for plodding care:
             Tell thee truth, sweet; no.
     Truth's the east wind on the Spring—
'Tis the wind, not Spring-time, errs.
     Lies will last while maids are fair.
             Let me lie, love, so.

From Disguises

1. Young May Sat Fainting and Chill
2. She Has Made Me Wayside Posies
3. Hark the Sky-Lark in the Cloud
4. 'Tis Hard
5. Choosing

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