Verse > Anthologies > The World’s Best Poetry > Vol. II. Love
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Bliss Carman, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume II. Love.  1904.
 
IV. Wooing and Winning
Doris: A Pastoral
Arthur Joseph Munby (1828–1910)
 
I SAT with Doris, the shepherd-maiden;
  Her crook was laden with wreathèd flowers:
I sat and wooed her, through sunlight wheeling
  And shadows stealing, for hours and hours.
 
And she, my Doris, whose lap encloses        5
  Wild summer-roses of sweet perfume,
The while I sued her, kept hushed and hearkened,
  Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom.
 
She touched my shoulder with fearful finger;
  She said, “We linger, we must not stay:        10
My flock ’s in danger, my sheep will wander;
  Behold them yonder, how far they stray!”
 
I answered bolder, “Nay, let me hear you,
  And still be near you, and still adore!
No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling:        15
  Ah! stay my darling, a moment more!”
 
She whispered, sighing, “There will be sorrow
  Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day;
My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded,
  I shall be scolded and sent away.”        20
 
Said I, denying, “If they do miss you,
  They ought to kiss you when you get home;
And well rewarded by friend and neighbor
  Should be the labor from which you come.”
 
“They might remember,” she answered meekly,        25
  “That lambs are weakly, and sheep are wild;
But if they love me, it ’s none so fervent:
  I am a servant, and not a child.”
 
Then each hot ember glowed within me,
  And love did win me to swift reply:        30
“Ah! do but prove me; and none shall bind you,
  Nor fray nor find you, until I die.”
 
She blushed and started, and stood awaiting,
  As if debating in dreams divine;
But I did brave them; I told her plainly        35
  She doubted vainly, she must be mine.
 
So we twin-hearted, from all the valley
  Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes;
And homeward drave them, we two together,
  Through blooming heather and gleaming dews.        40
 
That simple duty fresh grace did lend her,
  My Doris tender, my Doris true;
That I, her warder, did always bless her,
  And often press her to take her due.
 
And now in beauty she fills my dwelling,        45
  With love excelling, and undefined;
And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent,
  No more a servant, nor yet a child.
 
 
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