Too red, too red the roses were, Too black the ivy on the tree -- Dear, at the trembling of your hair All my despair comes back to me. Too blue and tender was the sky, The sea too green, the air too sweet -- I always fear -- why should not I? -- The cruel fleeing of your feet. I am weary of leaves bright and dim, Of shining box and sombre yew, Of the horizon's endless rim, And of all things but you . . . but you. . . . | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I LOVE ALL BEAUTEOUS THINGS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES MUSKETAQUID by RALPH WALDO EMERSON MESSIAH; A SACRED ECLOGUE IN IMITATION OF VIRGIL'S POLLIO by ALEXANDER POPE WHICH WAS MOST TRULY DEAD? by CHARLES AUGUSTIN SAINTE-BEUVE EL HOMBRE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS |