Tag Archives: classical poetry

#FlashFictionFriday: Ballad of Jennet Adair

Arthur_Wardle_-_A_Fairy_Tale

A Fairy Tale, Arthur Wardle, via Wikimedia Commons

Jennet, she lies

‘Neath the white rose tree

And never again will she

Play false to me

 

T’was not my hands

Round her lily-white throat

But would that I could

Drown her deep in the moat

 

Her hair was as dark

As summer is fair

Her lips were for kissing

Sweet Rose of Adair

 

Jennet, she lies

‘Neath the rose tree white

My brother will hang

For her murder tonight

 

Jennet, she lies

‘Neath the white rose tree

Never again will

Those lips lie to me

 

T’was not my hands

Round her lily-white throat

She ruined my brother

She ruined us both

 

Played us like pawns

In the age-old game

Until she did misstep

To her sorrow and shame

 

My brother will hang

‘Neath the town hall light

And who will tell mother

What happened tonight?

 

Jennet, she lies

‘Neath the white rose tree

And never again will she

Play false to me.


Ballad of Jennet Adair (as composed by Huw the Bard) © Connie J. Jasperson 2016, All Rights Reserved

The Ballad of Jennet Adair was first published July 31, 2015 on Edgewise Words Inn

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The Lake Isle of Innisfree, by W.B. Yeats

Skagit River Mist/PFly CC-BY-SA-2.0

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE

W.B. Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

 

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

 

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.


William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Nobel Prize winning Irish dramatist, author and poet.

The poetry of WB Yeats occupies a large place in my heart and is one of my favorite sources of inspiration.  In his early years, Yeat’s was not afraid to write of faeries and mystical things that fired my childish imagination. Later, as he grew as both a writer and as a person, he also wrote wonderful works that were more firmly rooted in reality. The Lake Isle of Innisfree was published in 1890.

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Filed under #FlashFictionFriday, Fantasy, Poetry