Jean Ingelow (1820–1897)

FOR Exmoor—

For Exmoor, where the red deer run, my weary heart doth cry:

She that will a rover wed, far her feet shall hie.

Narrow, narrow, shows the street, dull the narrow sky.

—Buy my cherries, whiteheart cherries, good my masters, buy!

For Exmoor—

O he left me, left alone, aye to think and sigh—

‘Lambs feed down yon sunny coombe, hind and yearling shy

Mid the shrouding vapours walk now like ghosts on high.’

—Buy my cherries, blackheart cherries, lads and lasses, buy!

For Exmoor—

Dear my dear, why did ye so? Evil day have I;

Mark no more the antler’d stag, hear the curlew cry,

Milking at my father’s gate while he leans anigh.

—Buy my cherries, whiteheart, blackheart, golden girls, O buy!