 | Poems (1914) |  |
76
Buen matina.
Sweete at this mourne I chaunced,To peepe into the chamber; loe I glaunced:
And sawe white sheetes, thy whyter skinne disclosing;
And soft-sweete cheeke on pyllowe soft reposing;
Then sayde were I that pillowe,
Deere for thy loue I would not weare the willowe.
| Poems (1914) | |