I LAVED my hands, By the water side; With the willow leaves My hands I dried. The nightingale sung On the bough of the tree; Sing, sweet nightingale, It is well with thee. Thou hast heart's delight, I have sad heart's sorrow For a false, false maid That will wed to-morrow. 'Tis all for a rose, That I gave her not, And I would that it grew In the garden plot. And I would the rose-tree Were still to set, That my love Marie Might love me yet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BANNER OF THE JEW by EMMA LAZARUS THE SPIRIT OF SHAKESPEARE: 1 by GEORGE MEREDITH FROM THE ANTIQUE (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI TWICE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THEOCRITUS; A VILLANELLE by OSCAR WILDE THIS FLESH by KENNETH SLADE ALLING IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: DEEDS MIGHT HAVE BEEN by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |