Jean Ingelow (1820–1897)

GOLDILOCKS sat on the grass,

Tying up of posies rare:

Hardly could a sunbeam pass

Through the cloud that was her hair.

Purple orchis lasteth long,

Primrose flowers are pale and clear;

O the maiden sang a song

It would do you good to hear!

Sad before her leaned the boy,

“Goldilocks that I love well,

Happy creature fair and coy,

Think o’ me, sweet Amabel.”

Goldilocks she shook apart,

Looked with doubtful, doubtful eyes:

Like a blossom in her heart,

Opened out her first surprise.

As a gloriole sign o’ grace,

Goldilocks, ah fall and flow,

On the blooming, childlike face,

Dimple, dimple, come and go.

Give her time: on grass and sky

Let her gaze if she be fain,

As they looked ere he drew nigh,

They will never look again.

Ah! the playtime she has known,

While her goldilocks grew long,

Is it like a nestling flown,

Childhood over like a song?

Yes, the boy may clear his brow,

Though she thinks to say him nay,

When she sighs, “I cannot now.

Come again some other day.”