John Keats (31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821 / London, England)
Where Be Ye Going, You Devon Maid?
WHERE be ye going, you Devon maid?
And what have ye there i' the basket?
Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy,
Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?
I love your meads, and I love your flowers,
And I love your junkets mainly,
But 'hind the door, I love kissing more,
O look not so disdainly!
I love your hills, and I love your dales,
And I love your flocks a-bleating;
But O, on the heather to lie together,
With both our hearts a-beating!
I'll put your basket all safe in a nook,
Your shawl I'll hang up on this willow,
And we will sigh in the daisy's eye,
And kiss on a grass-green pillow.
Poet Other Poems
- A Draught Of Sunshine
- A Dream, After Reading Dante's Episode O...
- A Galloway Song
- A Party Of Lovers
- A Prophecy: To George Keats In America
- A Song About Myself
- A Thing of Beauty (Endymion)
- Acrostic : Georgiana Augusta Keats
- Addressed To Haydon
- An Extempore
- Answer To A Sonnet By J.H.Reynolds
- Apollo And The Graces
- Asleep! O Sleep A Little While, White Pe...
- Bards of Passion and of Mirth, written o...
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.