WHILE May was merry in the leafy trees, I found my fair one sitting all alone, Where round our well the long light ferns had grown So high, so deep, that she was drowned in these, And her bright face and yellow buoyant hair Scarce peered above them, where she sat and read, Flecked by the leaf-lights wavering overhead, A great black-letter book of verses rare; Wherein old Chaucer, years and years ago, Wove the sad tale of Cryseyde untrue, And Troylus yearning with a broken heart; At last she, sighing, shut the rhythmic woe, And let her sweet eyes dream against the blue, And swore she would love truly, for her part. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOY (2) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE HONEYSUCKLE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA by HENRY CLAY WORK THE TIMELY MEMENTO by PHILIP AYRES IN THE ST. GOTTHARDT PASS by MATHILDE BLIND |