![]() | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | ![]() |
I BENDED UNTO ME
I bended unto me a bough of May,That I might see and smell:
It bore it in a sort of way,
It bore it very well.
But, when I let it backward sway,
Then it were hard to tell
With what a toss, with what a swing,
The dainty thing
Resumed its proper level,
And sent me to the devil.
I know it did—you doubt it?
I turned, and saw them whispering about it.
![]() | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | ![]() |