"A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine, fair maid! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green -- No more of me you knew, My love! No more of me you knew, "This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again." He turned his charger as he spake Upon the river shore, He gave the bridle-reins a shake, Said, "Adieu for evermore, My love! And adieu for evermore." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DIRGE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES HER SECRET IS BETRAYED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS by ANNE BRONTE SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 7 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING LAY OF THE DESERTED INFLUENZAED by HENRY CHOLMONDELEY-PENNELL |