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...MARJORIE'S WOOING by EMMA LAZARUS THE RAVAGED VILLA by HERMAN MELVILLE THE HIGHER GOOD by THEODORE PARKER HENRY WARD BEECHER by CHARLES HENRY PHELPS DESCRIBES THE PLACE WHERE CYNTHIA IS SPORTING HERSELF by PHILIP AYRES SKYFARER by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD RELIGION; AN ESSAY IN COUPLETS by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON IN THE GARDEN (WITH APOLOGIES TO ALFRED NOYES) by MARJORIE W. BRACHLOW |