And are ye one of Hermitage—

Of Hermitage, by Ivel Road,

And do ye know, in Hermitage

A thatch-roofed house where sengreens grow?

And does John Waywood live there still—

He of the name that there abode

When father hurdled on the hill

   Some fifteen years ago?

Does he now speak o’ Patty Beech,

The Patty Beech he used to—see,

Or ask at all if Patty Beech

Is known or heard of out this way?

—Ask ever if she’s living yet,

And where her present home may be,

And how she bears life’s fag and fret

   After so long a day?

In years agone at Hermitage

This faded face was counted fair,

None fairer; and at Hermitage

We swore to wed when he should thrive.

But never a chance had he or I,

And waiting made his wish outwear,

And Time, that dooms man’s love to die,

   Preserves a maid’s alive.