OLD Meg she was a gipsy;
And liv'd upon the moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.
Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants, pods o' broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
Her book a church-yard tomb.
Her brothers were the craggy hills,
Her sisters larchen trees;
Alone with her great family
She liv'd as she did please.
No breakfast had she many a morn,
No dinner many a noon,
And 'stead of supper she would stare
Full hard against the moon.
But every morn, of woodbine fresh
She made her garlanding,
And every night the dark glen yew
She wove, and she would sing.
And with her fingers old and brown
She plaited mats o' rushes,
And gave them to the cottagers
She met among the bushes.
Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen,
And tall as Amazon:
An old red blanket cloak she wore,
A chip hat had she on.
God rest her aged bones somewhere---
She died full long agone!
John Keats's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Meg Merrilies by John Keats )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Percy Bysshe Shelley
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- If You Awaken Before Me, Lora Colon
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe