Sir Henry Gaunt was a mighty lord.
He sat in state at the Council board;

The governors were as naught to him.
From one rim to the other rim

Of his great plantations, flung out wide
Like a purple cloak, was a full month's ride.

Life and death in his white hands lay,
And his only daughter stood at bay,
Trapped like a hare in the toils that day.

He sat at wine in his gold and his lace,
And far away, in a bloody place,
Hawk came near, and she covered her face.

He rode in the fields, and the hunt was brave,
And far away his daughter gave

A shriek that the seas cried out to hear,

And he could not see and he could not save.

Her white soul withered in the mire

As paper shrivels up in fire,

And Hawk laughed, and he kissed her mouth,
And her body he took for his desire.

THE GROWING OF THE HEMP

SIR HENRY stood in the manor room,
And his eyes were hard gems in the gloom.

And he said, "Go dig me furrows five

Where the green marsh creeps like a thing alive—

There at its edge, where the rushes thrive."

And where the furrows rent the ground,

He sowed the seed of hemp around.