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Kowhai Gold

[C. A. Gordon-Cumming]

At the Door
As I sit by my cottage door
At evening of the day,
And watch the young folks, two by two,
Go down the lovers' way,
And hear from old folks passing by
The things that old folks say,

It whirrs and clacks, my spinning-wheel,
And seems to mock at me,
For I am wed to crooked John
And he has gone to sea,
And Spring winds stir the rebel thing
That is the heart of me.

I know that in the coppice now
The pale blue harebells swing,
And every linnet in the wood
Is singing of the Spring,
And fain would I in the woodland ways,
A maid, go lovering.