The Piper by Olive Tilford Dargan — Read

I met a crone 'twixt wood and wood, / Who pointed down the piper's road / With shaken staff and fearsome glance, -- / "Ware, ware the dance!"

But when the piper me did greet, / The wind, the wind was in my feet, / The rose and leaf on eager boughs / Unvestalled them of dew-writ vows, / And I as light as leaf and rose / Danced to the summer's close.

Now every tree is weary grown, / Of singing birds there is not one; / All, all the world droops into grey, -- / O piper Love, must thou yet play? / The wildest note of all he blew, / And fast my worn feet flew.

Old is the year, the leaf and rose / Are long, long gone; / So chill, so chill the grey wind blows / Through heart and bone; / No grasses warm the winter ways / That wound my feet; / But with unwearied fingers yet, / Bold, undelayed on stop and fret, / Unmercifully sweet, / The piper plays.