 | Lyrical Poems |  |
61
SONG
I
Go talk to her, sweet flower,To whom I fain would talk
Tell her I hour by hour
Pine on my own poor stalk.
II
Tell her that I should liveNot quite so sore distressed,
If she to you would give
A throne upon her breast.
III
Tell her that should she hieTo my parched plot to see
If I be dead, that I
No more should withered be.
62
IV
If I were dead, her feetMy spirit would revive,
As may her bosom sweet
Keep you, sweet flower, alive.
| Lyrical Poems | |