SHE was a royal lady born.
Who loved a shepherd-lad ;
To bring the smile into his face
Was all the care she had.
His murderers brought a bloody crook
To show her of their deed :
She eyed it with a queenly eye ;
And leapt into the mead.
And there she settled with the lambs.
And felt their woolly fleece ;
It was their cry among the hills
That brought her to her peace.
And when at night she folded them,
Outside the wattle-fold
She took her lute and sang to them
To keep them from the cold.
She was a happy innocent
Whom men had sought to spite.
Alack, no sovereign lady lives
A life of such delight.
For no one crossed her any more,
Or sought to bend her will ;
She watched the ewes at lambing-time,
And in the winter chill.
And when her flock was gathered far
One day beside the brook,
The shepherds found that she had died.
Her arms about her crook.
She had no memories to forget,
Nor any sins to weep ;
O God, that I might be like her,
And live among the sheep !
