If she be fair, Give her my love and duty; If she be truly fair, Give her my love. Sweet and delicate and rare, At the end of a wind-blown, fragrant bough The apple swings: If I, who fly no more, had wings, Or if my wizardry knew how, I'd wing to where that sweetness swings At the end of the bough. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FIRST BLUEBIRD by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY ROOTS AND LEAVES THEMSELVES ALONE by WALT WHITMAN EFFICIENCY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS AN UNTIMELY THOUGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH DIRGE AND HYMENAL by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES HYMN OF THE WALDENSES by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE COLLIER LADDIE by ROBERT BURNS |