ALL June I bound the rose in sheaves. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside? Alas! Let them lie. Suppose they die? The chance was they might take her eye. How many a month I strove to suit These stubborn fingers to the lute! To-day I venture all I know. She will not hear my music? So! Break the string; fold music's wing: Suppose Pauline had bade me sing! My whole life long I learned to love. This hour my utmost art I prove And speak my passion -- heaven or hell? She will not give me heaven? 'T is well! Lose who may -- I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIGNATURE OF LOVE by KAREN SWENSON ULTIMA THULE: DEDICATION by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE FARMER'S BRIDE by CHARLOTTE MEW IN THE GOLD ROOM by OSCAR WILDE APPLE-GATHERING by MATHILDE BLIND QUESTION AND ANSWER by MATHILDE BLIND CAELIA: SONNETS: 5 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) THE CHILD IN BLACK by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR TO A LADY, ON BEING ASKED MY REASON FOR QUITTING ENGLAND by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |