At the Cross Roads

There I halted. Further down the
    hollow
Stood the township, where my errand lay.
Firm my purpose, till a voice cried
    (Follow!
Come this way — I tell you — come this
    way!)

Silence, Thrush! You know I think of
    buying
A Spring-tide hat; my frock is worn and
    old.
So to the shops I go. What's that you're
    crying?
(Here! Come here! And gather primrose
    gold.)
Well, yes. Some day I will; but time is
    going.
I haste to purchase silks and satins fair.
I'm all in rags. (The Lady's Smock is
    showing
Up yonder, in the little coppice there.)

And wood anemones spread out their
    laces;
Each celandine has donned a silken gown;
The violets are lifting shy sweet faces.
(And there's a chiff-chaff, soft, and slim, and
    brown.)

But what about my hat? (The bees are
    humming.)
And my new frock? (The hawthorn's
    budding free!
Sweet! Oh, so sweet!) Well, have your
    way. I'm coming!
And who's to blame for that? (Why, me!
    Me! Me!)