ALL June I bound the rose in sheaves. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside? Alas! Let them lie. Suppose they die? The chance was they might take her eye. How many a month I strove to suit These stubborn fingers to the lute! To-day I venture all I know. She will not hear my music? So! Break the string; fold music's wing: Suppose Pauline had bade me sing! My whole life long I learned to love. This hour my utmost art I prove And speak my passion -- heaven or hell? She will not give me heaven? 'T is well! Lose who may -- I still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUSSIAN ARMY GOES INTO BAKU by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER NOEL: CHRISTMAS EVE, 1913 by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE PURPLE COW by FRANK GELETT BURGESS TELL'S BIRTHPLACE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE BALLADE OF DEAD ACTORS by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY UPON THE DEATH OF MY EVER CONSTANT FRIEND DOCTOR DONNE, DEAN OF PAUL'S by HENRY KING (1592-1669) ZOLA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |