I BEG the pardon of these flowers For bringing them to one whose hair Alone doth shame, beyond compare, The sweetest blooms of richest bowers. I beg the pardon of this maid For offering them with hand less pure, A heart less perfect, needing cure By Love's own music, softly played. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 27 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING INTERIM by CLARISSA SCOTT DELANY SONNET: 55 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE RUINED CHURCH by F. W. BATESON SONNET TO ZOE KING by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |