The Danger Of Writing Defiant Verse

And now I have another lad!
No longer need you tell

How all my nights are slow and sad
For loving you too well.

His ways are not your wicked ways,
He's not the like of you.

He treads his path of reckoned days,
A sober man, and true.

They'll never see him in the town,
Another on his knee.

He'd cut his laden orchards down,
If that would pleasure me.

He'd give his blood to paint my lips
If I should wish them red.

He prays to touch my finger-tips
Or stroke my prideful head.

He never weaves a glinting lie,
Or brags the hearts he'll keep.

I have forgotten how to sighRemembered
how to sleep.

He's none to kiss away my mindA
slower way is his.

Oh, Lord! On reading this, I find
A silly lot he is.