The Willow-Tree

1811 –

1863

  Know ye the willow-tree
    Whose gray leaves quiver,
  Whispering gloomily
    To yon pale river;
  Lady, at even-tide
    Wander not near it,
  They say its branches hide
    A sad, lost spirit?

  Once to the willow-tree
    A maid came fearful,
  Pale seemed her cheek to be,
    Her blue eye tearful;
  Soon as she saw the tree,
    Her step moved fleeter,
  No one was there—ah me!
    No one to meet her!

  Quick beat her heart to hear
    The far bell's chime
  Toll from the chapel-tower
    The trysting time:
  But the red sun went down
    In golden flame,
  And though she looked round,
    Yet no one came!

  Presently came the night,
    Sadly to greet her,—
  Moon in her silver light,
    Stars in their glitter;
  Then sank the moon away
    Under the billow,
  Still wept the maid alone—
    There by the willow!

  Through the long darkness,
    By the stream rolling,
  Hour after hour went on
    Tolling and tolling.
  Long was the darkness,
    Lonely and stilly;
  Shrill came the night-wind,
    Piercing and chilly.

  Shrill blew the morning breeze,
    Biting and cold,
  Bleak peers the gray dawn
    Over the wold.
  Bleak over moor and stream
    Looks the grey dawn,
  Gray, with dishevelled hair,
  Still stands the willow there—
    THE MAID IS GONE!

  Domine, Domine!
    Sing we a litany,—
  Sing for poor maiden-hearts broken and weary;
    Domine, Domine!
  Sing we a litany,
    Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere!

This poem is in the public domain.

At the Zoo

First I saw the white bear, then I saw the black;
Then I saw the camel with a hump upon his back;
Then I saw the grey wolf, with mutton in his maw;
Then I saw the wombat waddle in the straw;
Then I saw the elephant a-waving of his trunk;
Then I saw the monkeys—mercy, how unpleasantly they smelt!

William Makepeace Thackeray

1863

The King of Yvetot

There was a king of Yvetot, Of whom renown hath little said, Who let all thoughts of glory go, And dawdled half his days a-bed; And every night, as night came round, By Jenny, with a nightcap crowned, Slept very sound: Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he! That's the kind of king for me. And every day it came to pass, That four lusty meals made he; And, step by step, upon an ass, Rode abroad, his realms to see; And wherever he did stir, What think you was his escort, sir? Why, an old cur. Sing ho, ho, ho !

William Makepeace Thackeray

2018

The Garret

     With pensive eyes the little room I view,
       Where, in my youth, I weathered it so long;
     With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two,
       And a light heart still breaking into song:
     Making a mock of life, and all its cares,
       Rich in the glory of my rising sun,
     Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs,
       In the brave days when I was twenty-one.

     Yes; 'tis a garret—let him know't who will—
       There was my bed—full hard it was and small.
     My table there—and I decipher still
       Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall.
     Ye joys,

William Makepeace Thackeray

2018

Poems

The Willow-Tree

More by this poet

At the Zoo

The King of Yvetot

The Garret

Poems

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The Willow-Tree

More by this poet

At the Zoo

The King of Yvetot

The Garret

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