When should I be bound to thee, O my lovely myrtle tree? Love, free love, cannot be bound To any tree that grows on the ground. Oh how sick and weary I Underneath my myrtle lie, Like to dung upon the ground, Underneath my myrtle bound. Oft my myrtle signed in vain, To behold my heavy chain. Oft my father saw us sigh, And laughed at our simplicity. So I smote him, and his gore Stained the roots my myrtle bore; But the time of youth is fled, And grey hairs are on my head. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A CHILD by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR TO LUCASTA, [ON] GOING TO THE WARS by RICHARD LOVELACE A FAIRY TALE by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY THE OLD GHOST by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE WHITE THOUGHT by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |