Go talk to her, sweet flower,
To whom I fain would talk
Tell her I hour by hour
Pine on my own poor stalk.
Tell her that I should live
Not quite so sore distressed,
If she to you would give
A throne upon her breast.
Tell her that should she hie
To my parched plot to see
If I be dead, that I
No more should withered be.
If I were dead, her feet
My spirit would revive,
As may her bosom sweet
Keep you, sweet flower, alive.
Song
Alfred Austin
(1)
Poem topics: poor, spirit, live, revive, flower, talk, sweet, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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