When should I be bound to thee, O my lovely myrtle tree? Love, free love, cannot be bound To any tree that grows on the ground. Oh how sick and weary I Underneath my myrtle lie, Like to dung upon the ground, Underneath my myrtle bound. Oft my myrtle signed in vain, To behold my heavy chain. Oft my father saw us sigh, And laughed at our simplicity. So I smote him, and his gore Stained the roots my myrtle bore; But the time of youth is fled, And grey hairs are on my head. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DAVIS MATLOCK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS CONTRA MORTEM: THE LEAVES by HAYDEN CARRUTH A TIME TO DANCE by CECIL DAY LEWIS CLEAR AND COLDER; BOSTON COMMON by ROBERT FROST SHALL I SAY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IRELAND; WRITTEN FOR THE ART AUTOGRAPH DURING IRISH FAMINE by SIDNEY LANIER AT NIGHT; SONNET by AMY LOWELL CONSECRATED GROUND; READ AT THE NEW YORK CITY HALL by EDWIN MARKHAM |