A Carol for Midsummer Eve

Come all ye sorrowful people
Who would escape my fires;
Climb to the top of the steeple
And I'll show you seven shires.

The first is the shire of rivers;
The shire of a double dream
Whose image never shivers
In its mercurial stream.

The towers of Ys have hollowed
Tall caverns in the waves,
So this smooth stream has swallowed
A hundred hermits' caves,

A hundred wells of peace, no less,
And not a single town;
This is the shire for weariness;
Dive into this, and drown.

The second is the shire of iron
Where swords grow up like grain,
And granite walls environ
A broad resounding plain.

This radiant plain amazes
All men of noble will,
Where daggers grow like daisies;
Leap into this, and kill.

The third is the shire of apples
That are sweeter than holy bread;
I have torn down all the chapels
And builded inns instead;

Cider and beer in barrels;
And no man needs to think
Of war or money or quarrels;
Drop into this, and drink.

The fourth is the shire of sovereigns;
They cover the ground like leaves.
Thank God no justice governs
This heaven of my thieves!

They say the gold was given in alms
For Jesus Christ His sake,
But if any of you have itching palms
Steal into this, and take.

The fifth is the shire of whispers;
Its willow trees have tongues,
And soft infernal vespers
Ring bells between their songs;

And if you would betray your lord
Or see your brother die,
It needs, perhaps, but half a word;
Creep into this, and lie.

The sixth is the shire of shadows;
It shines within a cloud;
Silver are all its meadows;
Its birds sing low and loud;

Its clover valleys lie asleep
Forgetting to be sad;
If you would bury sorrow deep,
Go seek it, and go mad.

The seventh is the shire of pigeons
Queen Venus calls her doves,
Of Puck's and Pan's religions
And Ashtaroth her groves.

Ho! Young man with the missal-book,
What are you dreaming of?
Look in the bower below you, look!
Lean into this, and love.