MY darling has a merry eye, And voice like silver bells: How shall I win her, prithee, say, -- By what magic spells? If I frown, she shakes her head; If I weep, she smiles: Time would fail me to recount All her wilful wiles. She flouts me so, -- she stings me so, -- Yet will not let me stir, -- In vain I try to pass her by, My little chestnut bur. When I yield to every whim, She straight begins to pout. Teach me how to read my love, How to find her out! For flowers she gives me thistle-blooms, -- Her turtle-doves are crows, -- I am the groaning weather-vane, And she the wind that blows. My little love! My teasing love! Was woman made for man, -- A rose that blossomed from his side? Believe it -- those who can. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FORECLOSURE by STERLING ALLEN BROWN WRITTEN ON A WALL AT WOODSTOCK by ELIZABETH I TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME by ROBERT HERRICK ENVOI by JOHN GNEISENAU NEIHARDT DISILLUSIONMENT OF TEN O'CLOCK by WALLACE STEVENS LUCY (1) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |