By the osiers so dank, As we sat on the bank, And look'd at the swell of the billow, This chaplet he wove As a token of love; Alas! 't was the branch of the willow. How sad all the day Through the meadows I stray, And rest flies at night from my pillow! The garland I wore From my ringlets I tore, Alas! must I wear the green willow? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PARADOX by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE MOWER TO THE GLOW-WORMS by ANDREW MARVELL MALVERN HILL [JULY 1, 1862] by HERMAN MELVILLE A DUTCH PROVERB by MATTHEW PRIOR FANCIES AT NAVESINK: 7 by WALT WHITMAN |