A LITTLE way below her chin, Caught in her bosom's snowy hem, Some buttercups are fastened in, -- Ah, how I envy them! They do not miss their meadow place, Nor are they conscious that their skies Are not the heavens, but her face, Her hair, and mild blue eyes. There, in the downy meshes pinned, Such sweet illusions haunt their rest; They think her breath the fragrant wind, And tremble on her breast; As if, close to her heart, they heard A captive secret slip its cell, And with desire were sudden stirred To find a voice and tell! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CITY AND VILLAGE by ALEXANDER ANDERSON THE MORNING STAR by EMILY JANE BRONTE THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE: FOURTH ECLOGUE. TO MR. THOMAS MANWOOD by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) TO A KNOT OF UNGENEROUS CRITICS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON TO THOMAS MOORE (3) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON BLANK VERSE. WRITTEN ON THE SEA SHORE by HANNAH COWLEY EPISTLE TO THE LORD HENRY HOWARD, ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S PRIVY COUNCIL by SAMUEL DANIEL |