Three summer's since I chose a maid,
Too young may be - but more's to do
At harvest time than bide and woo.
When us was wed she turned afraid
Of love and me and all things human;
Like the shut of a winter's day.
Her smile went out, and 'twasn't a woman-
More like a little frightened fay.
One night, in the fall, she runned away.
"Out 'mong the sheep, her be," they said,
Should properly have been abed;
But sure enough she wasn't there
Lying awake with her wide brown stare.
So over seven-acre field and up-along across the down
We chased her, flying like a hare
Before our lanterns. To Church-town
All in a shiver and a scare
We caught her, fetched her home at last
And turned the key upon her fast.
She does the work about the house,
As well as most, but like a mouse:
Happy enough to chat and play
With birds and rabbits and such as they,
So long as men-folk keep away.
"Not near, Not near," her eyes beseech
When one of us comes within reach.
The women say that beasts in stall
Look round like children at her call.
I've hardly heard her speak at all.
Shy as a leveret, swift as he,
Straight and slight as a young larch tree,
Sweet as the first wild violets, she,
To her wild self. But what to me ?
The short days shorten and the oaks are brown,
The blue smoke rises to the low grey sky,
One leaf in the still air falls slowly down,
A magpie's spotted feathers lie
On the black earth spread white with rime,
The berries redden up to Christmas- time.
What's Christmas-time without there be
Some other in the house but we.
She sleeps up in the attic there
Alone, poor maid. 'Tis but a stair
Betwixt us. Oh! My God! the down,
The soft young down of her, the brown,
The brown of her - her eyes, her hair ! her hair !
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Comments
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I find this a little disturbing. I knew that such practices went on in our farms but still the casual acceptance of reluctant brides is unsettling.
Their is a good discussion about this poem here
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2008/sep/01/poemoftheweekthefarmersb
Jim -
One is almost distracted by the practical observance of this aged farmer. If we follow his viewpoint he has chosen a young bride to keep house and run the farm who turns 'strange' like a little wild animal after the marriage. He expresses his confusion and questions his own position of rejection by this 'lovely creature'
Straight and slight as a young larch tree,
Sweet as the first wild violets, she,
To her wild self. But what to me?
However if we look beyond the farmers voice we are given clues that this 'creature' is barely out of childhood.
Her smile went out, and `twadn't a woman-
More like a little frightened fay.
One night, in the Fall, she runned away.
There has been no choice in this marriage and once 'tracked down' she is taken home and locked up to scivvy her days away for this old man.
All in a shiver and a scare
We caught her, fetched her home at last
And turned the key upon her, fast.
This poem reflects well the plight of women who were dependent and suggests the possibility of an arranged marriage, easing the burden on her own family. Yet there is a strength and determination in the 'little trapped animal' who shuts herself away defiantly preferring isolation to the letchery of her old husband.
She sleeps up in the attic there
Alone, poor maid. `Tis but a stair
Betwixt us. Oh! my God! the down,
The soft young down of her, the brown,
The brown of her-her eyes, her hair, her hair!
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A strange and sadly beautiful poem!
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afraid I have to disagree with you on this one, it's tragic, please refer to my comments and see if you disagree with my viewpoint, interesting to see how each gender takes a different perspective.
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