O you, who chide my passion In so cruel fashion, When may I hope release From love, and peace? Between her cheeks and gleaming Lips a mole lies dreaming, A negro who at dawn Surveys the lawn. Bewildered which to gather, Whether he would rather The roses, or the sweet Pale marguerite. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAIR HARVARD by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE SELF-UNSEEING by THOMAS HARDY THE BLESSED VIRGIN, COMPARED TO THE AIR WE BREATHE by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS THE SEASONS: A HYMN by JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748) ON BEING ASKED FOR A WAR POEM by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. IN REPLY TO HIS SOLICITATION by WILLIAM COWPER |