A vine o'er me, a withered plane, hath grown, And shrouds my limbs with foliage not their own, Grateful—because my boughs, once verdant, trained Her tender shoots, her clustering grapes sustained. So choose, fond boy, a partner like the vine, Whose love around thee, e'en in death, may twine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UNCLE JIM'S BAPTIST REVIVAL HYMN by SIDNEY LANIER THE [EXCELLENT] BALLADE OF CHARITIE by THOMAS CHATTERTON BRONX, 1818 by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE A SONG FROM THE COPTIC by JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE DORIS; A PASTORAL by ARTHUR JOSEPH MUNBY CALIBAN [ON THE ISLAND], FR. THE TEMPEST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE TO A BUTTERFLY (1) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ON THOSE THAT HATED 'THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD' by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |