To a Little Maid: By a Policeman
COME with me, little maid,Nay, shrink not, thus afraid—I’ll harm thee not!Fly not, my love, from me—I have a home for thee—A fairy grot,Where mortal eyeCan rarely pry,There shall thy dwelling be!
List to me, while I tellThe pleasures of that cell,Oh, little maid!What though its couch be rude,Homely the only foodWithin its shade?No thought of careCan enter there,No vulgar swain intrude!
Come with me, little maid,Come to the rocky shadeI love to sing;Live with us, maiden rare—Come, for we “want” thee there,Thou elfin thing,To work thy spell,In some cool cellIn stately Pentonville!