Senex. Saye, cushat, callynge from the brake, <br />What ayles thee soe to pyne? <br />Thy carefulle heart shall cease to ake <br />When dayes be fyne <br />And greene thynges twyne: <br />Saye, cushat, what thy griefe to myne? <br />Turtur. Naye, gossyp, loyterynge soe late, <br />What ayles thee thus to chyde? <br />My love is fled by garden-gate; <br />Since Lammas-tyde <br />I wayte my bryde. <br />Saye, gossyp, whom dost thou abyde? <br />Senex. Loe! I am he, the 'Lonelie Manne,' <br />Of Time forgotten quite, <br />That no remembered face may scanne— <br />Sadde eremyte, <br />I wayte tonyghte <br />Pale Death, nor any other wyghte. <br />O cushat, cushat, callynge lowe, <br />Goe waken Time from sleepe: <br />Goe whysper in his ear, that soe <br />His besom sweepe <br />Me to that heape <br />Where all my recollections keepe. <br />Hath he forgott? Or did I viewe <br />A ghostlye companye <br />This even, by the dismalle yewe, <br />Of faces three <br />That beckoned mee <br />To land where no repynynges bee? <br />O Harrye, Harrye, Tom and Dicke, <br />Each lost companion! <br />Why loyter I among the quicke, <br />When ye are gonne? <br />Shalle I alone <br />Delayinge crye 'Anon, Anon'? <br />Naye, let the spyder have my gowne, <br />To brayde therein her veste. <br />My cappe shal serve, now I 'goe downe,' <br />For mouse's neste. <br />Loe! this is best. <br />I care not, soe I gayne my reste.<br /><br />Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-a-college-garden/
