Yes; tell me all. For every thought of thine Is unto me a flower I long to hold, And thy past life is as a cup of gold Brimming for me with sparkling joyous wine. Yes; tell me what thy sorrows were of old! Press deep thy thorn-crown! Make its red points mine! Wear thou my bays and buds of eglantine, And round my brows thine austere garland fold. For then it shall be well with us. I wear This wreath whose lingering blood-drops soil thine hair, Whose raven-black, unsoiled, I love to see: Thou takest flowers that thou dost need the more Because their gracious bloom came not before: Take thou my roses; give thy thorns to me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WINTER MEMORIES by HENRY DAVID THOREAU FANNIE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH RIDDLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD VERSES FROM THE 'ANNALIA DUBRENSIA' by WILLIAM BASSE THE HEART'S COLLOQUY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |