I hear that maiden still <br />Of Keinton Mandeville <br />Singing, in flights that played <br />As wind-wafts through us all, <br />Till they made our mood a thrall <br />To their aery rise and fall, <br />'Should he upbraid.' <br /> <br />Rose-necked, in sky-gray gown, <br />From a stage in Stower Town <br />Did she sing, and singing smile <br />As she blent that dexterous voice <br />With the ditty of her choice, <br />And banished our annoys <br />Thereawhile. <br /> <br />One with such song had power <br />To wing the heaviest hour <br />Of him who housed with her. <br />Who did I never knew <br />When her spoused estate ondrew, <br />And her warble flung its woo <br />In his ear. <br /> <br />Ah, she's a beldame now, <br />Time-trenched on cheek and brow, <br />Whom I once heard as a maid <br />From Keinton Mandeville <br />Of matchless scope and skill <br />Sing, with smile and swell and trill, <br />'Should he upbraid!'<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-maid-of-keinton-mandeville-a-tribute-to-sir-h-bishop/
