AS I came down from Earsdon Town, <br /> A-lilting of a lay, <br />Whom did I meet but she, the sweet, <br /> The blue-eyed Lotty Hay. <br /> <br />A crimson blush her cheek did flush, <br /> Nor sin did that betray; <br />The pearl is sure a jewel pure, <br /> And so is Lotty Hay. <br /> <br />All evil flees her heart, yet she's <br /> To Slander's shafts a prey, <br />And words of ill do nearly kill <br /> The lowly Lotty Hay. <br /> <br />Some deem her proud; in speech aloud <br /> Some other mays will say <br />She's cold or fierce, and all to pierce <br /> The heart of Lotty Hay. <br /> <br />Proud?—She's not proud: to-day I view'd <br /> An ant beside her stray, <br />And that wee thing kind blinks did bring <br /> From soft eyed Lotty Hay. <br /> <br />Fierce?—She's not fierce; a fly did pierce— <br /> Late pierce her bosom—yea, <br />And made her cry, yet that bad fly <br /> Was spared by Lotty Hay. <br /> <br />Not proud nor bold, not fierce nor cold, <br /> But meek, kind, mild alway— <br />A soul of light did meet my sight <br /> As I pass'd Lotty Hay. <br /> <br />Upon her way she went and, nay, <br /> Not lighter moved to-day <br />The thistle-down then upward flown, <br /> Than walked this Lotty Hay. <br /> <br />In cotton gown she tript to town, <br /> And not a lady gay <br />In satin drest could be more blest <br /> Than seemed sweet Lotty Hay.<br /><br />Joseph Skipsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lotty-hay/
