O you, who chide my passion In so cruel fashion, When may I hope release From love, and peace? Between her cheeks and gleaming Lips a mole lies dreaming, A negro who at dawn Surveys the lawn. Bewildered which to gather, Whether he would rather The roses, or the sweet Pale marguerite. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TEST by RALPH WALDO EMERSON BEFORE ACTION by WILLIAM NOEL HODGSON MY PRAYER FOR TODAY by MAUD AKERS MOONRISE AT SEA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH BUSINESS GIRLS by JOHN BETJEMAN SONG OF THE GREEK AMAZON by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT SUBWAY TRACK-WALKERS by DANA BURNET UPON TWO GREENE APRICOCKES SENT TO COWLEY BY SIR CRASHAW by RICHARD CRASHAW |