 | Poems |  |
88
To Her
Till thee I loved, my radiant Spring,
My heart was like a silent plot,
Where goodly flowers flourish not,
And brambles tear and nettles sting!
My heart was like a silent plot,
Where goodly flowers flourish not,
And brambles tear and nettles sting!
Now thorn and nettle in a ring
My garden guard from filching foes,
But in the midst the lily blows
And all thine herald thrushes sing.
My garden guard from filching foes,
But in the midst the lily blows
And all thine herald thrushes sing.
| Poems | |