YOU held a wild-flower in your finger-tips, Idly you pressed it to indifferent lips, Idly you tore its crimson leaves apart, .. Alas! it was my heart. You held a wine-cup in your finger-tips, Lightly you raised it to indifferent lips, Lightly you drank and flung away the bowl ... Alas! it was my soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANNE by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE EN TOUR; A SONG SEQUENCE: 3. GENOA by ALBERTA BANCROFT BEYOND THE BARS by GEORGE E. BOWEN DON JUAN: CANTO 15 by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO AN OAK AT NEWSTEAD by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO D -. by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |