When thou to my true-love com'st Greet her from me kindly; When she asks thee how I fare? Say, folks in Heaven fare finely. When she asks, 'What! Is he sick?' Say, dead! -- and when for sorrow She begins to sob and cry, Say. I come to-morrow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR LORD AND OUR LADY by HILAIRE BELLOC THE SACHEM OF THE CLOUDS (A THANKSGIVING LEGEND) by ROBERT FROST A PORTRAIT OF MY ROOF by JAMES GALVIN THE SMALL SELF AND THE LIBERAL SELF by JAMES GALVIN |