TELL me, fair maid, tell me truly, How should infant Love be fed; If with dewdrops, shed so newly On the bright green clover blade; Or, with roses plucked in July, And with honey liquored? O, no! O, no! Let roses blow, And dew-stars to green blade cling: Other fare, More light and rare, Befits that gentlest Nursling. Feed him with the sigh that rushes 'Twixt sweet lips, whose muteness speaks With the eloquence that flushes All a heart's wealth o'er soft cheeks; Feed him with a world of blushes, And the glance that shuns, yet seeks: For 'tis with food, So light and good, That the Spirit child is fed; And with the tear Of joyous fear That the small Elf's liquored. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 51 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE BROOKSIDE by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES CHAMPAGNE, 1914-1915 by ALAN SEEGER SIR JOHN FRANKLIN; ON THE CENTOTAPH IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY by ALFRED TENNYSON |