Jack and Jill, as told by Mr Swinburne.
When they found a spring on the grassy mountain,
Jack and his Jill in the time of their youth
Sweet was the water that gushed from that fountain,
Sweeter than death, ay, and stronger than truth.
Who can give voice to it, how shall we sing of it,
Water that moistens and quenches and flows?
Rejoice in the river and stream, in the spring of it,
Rejoice in the dew-drop that brightens the rose.
[Here follows a long and totally irrelevant passage making reference to classical deities and the relationship between love, pain and death]
Thou hast fumbled thy pail, silly boy child,
And thou lookest so grey, short of breath.
What language I hear thee employ, child -
It reeks of disaster and death.
Down the hill thou hast tumbled in anguish,
Thou climbs't once but now have come down
And here at the bottom shall languish
With a terrible gash on thy crown.
Sharp, sharp is the bite of the serpent
And sharp is the taste of the caper
But sharper by far is the poultice
Of vinegar and brown paper.
Crossposted to artspark