The Visitor

The white goat Amaryllis,
She wandered at her will
At time of daffodillies
Afar and up the hill:
We hunted and we halloa'd
And back she came at dawn,
But what d'you think had followed? —
A little, pagan Faun!

His face was like a berry,
His ears were high and pricked:
His hoofs tapped loud and merry
And up the path he clicked;
A junket from the dairy
We set in shiny delf,
He ate it — peart but wary —
As Christian as yourself!

He stayed about the steading, —
Laid luck on barn and byre;
A blanket for his bedding
We spread beside the fire;
And when the cocks crowed gaily
Before the dawn was ripe,
He'd call the milkmaids daily
Upon a reedy pipe!

That fortnight of his staying
The work went smooth as silk:
The hens were all in laying,
The cows were all in milk:
And then — and then one morning
The maids woke up at day
Without his oaten warning —
And found him gone away.

He left no trace behind him;
But still the milkmaids deem
That they, perhaps, may find him
With butter and with cream:
Beside the door they set them
In bowl and golden pat,
But no one comes to get them —
Unless, maybe, the cat.

The white goat Amaryllis,
She wanders at her will
At time of daffodillies
Away up Woolcombe Hill;
She stays until the morrow,
Then back she comes at dawn,
But never — to our sorrow —
The little, pagan Faun.