Thackeray

William Makepeace Thackeray 

18 de Julho de 1811 a 24 de Dezembro de 1863

(Feliz Aniversário)

The Willow-tree

Know ye the willow-tree

Whose gray leaves quiver,

Whispering gloomily

To yon pale river;

Lady, at even-tide

Wander not near it,

They say its branches hide

A sad, lost spirit?

Once to the willow-tree

A maid came fearful,

Pale seemed her cheek to be,

Her blue eye tearful;

Soon as she saw the tree,

Her step moved fleeter,

No one was there—ah me!

No one to meet her!

Quick beat her heart to hear

The far bell's chime

Toll from the chapel-tower

The trysting time:

But the red sun went down

In golden flame,

And though she looked round,

Yet no one came!

Presently came the night,

Sadly to greet her,—

Moon in her silver light,

Stars in their glitter;

Then sank the moon away

Under the billow,

Still wept the maid alone—

There by the willow!

Through the long darkness,

By the stream rolling,

Hour after hour went on

Tolling and tolling.

Long was the darkness,

Lonely and stilly;

Shrill came the night-wind,

Piercing and chilly.

Shrill blew the morning breeze,

Biting and cold,

Bleak peers the gray dawn

Over the wold.

Bleak over moor and stream

Looks the grey dawn,

Gray, with dishevelled hair,

Still stands the willow there—

THE MAID IS GONE!

Domine, Domine!

Sing we a litany,—

Sing for poor maiden-hearts broken and weary;

Domine, Domine!

Sing we a litany,

Wail we and weep we a wild Miserere! 

William Makepeace Thackeray