@3I wet my feet in the river And it's here I must stay, Close to my door-stone, Forever and a day -- So they say.@1 All day and all day I watched my da's sheep, Helped them with their lambing, Huddled them to sleep. And all day and all day I watched the three cows, Coaxed their lazy udders, Turned them out to browse. But my thoughts were wild ducks And off they would fly Over the bog To the scruff of the sky. And my wild-duck thoughts Beat their windy wings, Though my body bided here Minding other things. There fell a day in April; My ducks swarmed the sky -- Destroyed I was with milking cows, And wished I could die, Or their dugs go dry. And then -- came the beat Of hoofs upon the turf, Skeltering hoofs that mounted Like pounding surf; And out through the furze A horse plunged by, Flinging in the ditch Something to die, Something strange to die. God help me, he was proud to see! A rider of the world, The whisht of death upon his face, His hair bright-curled -- The jewel of the world. He was flung there to die -- But my arms made his bed, My breath breathed him back From the shiftless dead. You'll die, and I'll die, But he die? -- Never! He'll laugh and ride and kiss For always and forever. Too soon it was I cured him. He stood up like a tree, His curling locks were bright as brass, His breast the height of me. All day and all day He helped me tend the sheep, Taught me April's ways, Her tryst to keep. And all night and all night We counted the stars. Oh, I wouldn't trade my lot, For all its scars And its pasture bars! I grudged an hour's sleeping -- His saddle would speak, And time would come he'd gallop off, God's breath upon his cheek. And he went so -- In a splendor of hoofs That sped like arrows Through the skyey roofs. A moon of April Drew him from sight, Left me shut of laughter In a blur of night. All day and all day I watch my da's sheep. But things are not the same now -- I've something to keep. And all night and all night I think of my dear -- The thought of him is bright as rain And warm as a tear. When Winter tramps the hillside In boots of snow And shouts down the world-way His rough hallo, I'll not be smited with his fist, Nor think him over-strong. Oh, I'll be taking stitches A fair-foot long, And humming a song. Oh, I shall be a-borning My own white lamb. I'll never let him miss his sire So close will be his dam. And when my lad is come a man I'll tell him of his sire, I'll bid him leave the barley field, The cows in the byre, And go where my wild ducks Fly past the hill, Leading the way As wild ducks will. And he shall know his sire By his own glad grace. I'll have no son, I'm telling you, Without his father's face. He'll say, "You're my da, And it's I am your lad. My mother sent me back to you -- I'm everything she had." @3Oh, I wet my feet in the river, And it's here I must stay, Close to my door-stone For always and a day -- So they say, So they say.@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FALL; A GREAT FAVORIT BEHEADED by LUIS DE GONGORA SEVEN TIMES SEVEN [- LONGING FOR HOME] by JEAN INGELOW MAIDENHOOD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE CLOUD by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY IMITATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE: PROGNE'S DREAM by JOHN ARMSTRONG |