THE MAID OF KEINTON MANDEVILLE
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HEAR that maiden stillOf Keinton MandevilleSinging, in flights that playedAs wind-wafts through us all,Till they made our mood a thrallTo their aery rise and fall,“Should he upbraid.” Rose-necked, in sky-gray gown,From a stage in Stower TownDid she sing, and singing smileAs she blent that dexterous voiceWith the ditty of her choice,And banished our annoysThereawhile. One with such song had powerTo wing the heaviest hourOf him who housed with her.Who did I never knewWhen her spoused estate ondrew,And her warble flung its wooIn his ear. Ah, she’s a beldame now,Time-trenched on cheek and brow,Whom I once heard as a maidFrom Keinton MandevilleOf matchless scope and skillSing, with smile and swell and trill,“Should he upbraid!” 1915 or 1916.
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