A snatch for Verse Thursday

Still now is the stithy this morning unclouded,
Naught stirs in the thorp save the yellow-haired maid
A-peeling the withy last Candlemas shrouded
From the mere where the moorhen now swims unafraid.

For over the ford now the grass and the clover
Fly off from the tines as the wind driveth on;
And soon round the Sword-howe the swathe shall lie over,
And to-morrow at even the mead shall be won.

- Excerpt from a verse the hero sings to his captor in the Well at the World's End by William Morris