SHEW me no more the Marigold, Whose leaves like grieved arms do fold, My longings nothing can explain, But soul and body rent in twain, Did I not moan, And sign and groan, And talk alone, I should believe my Soul were gone from home: She's gone, she's gone, away she's fled, Within thy breast to make her bed; In me there dwells her tenant, woe, And sighs are all the breath I blow: Then come to me, One touch of thee Will make me see Whether living thus, alive or dead, I be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EXPANDED COMPOSITION by CLARENCE MAJOR THE OLD ENEMY by SARA TEASDALE HAWTHORNE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE DEATH OF ADONIS by THEOCRITUS AT A READING by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH MORTAL JEALOUSY by PHILIP AYRES A POEM, DEDICATED TO WILLIAM LAW, PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY by ROBERT BLAIR |