She dens in a garret As void as a drum; In lieu of plum-pudding -- She paints the plum! No use in my grieving, The shops I must suit: Broken hearts are but potsherds -- Paint flowers and fruit! How whistles her garret, A seine for the snows: She hums Si fortuna, And -- paints the rose! December is howling, But feign it a flute: Help on the deceiving -- Paint flowers and fruit! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEA SLUMBER-SONG by RODEN BERKELEY WRIOTHESLEY NOEL PROTHALAMION by EDMUND SPENSER A SONNET WRITTEN BY A NYMPH IN HER OWN BLOOD by CLAUDIO ACHILLINI THE WHISTLE OF THE TRAIN by LEVI BISHOP NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 3 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 114. A LATER DEDICATION by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |