KATE! could I claim thee as "ma maîtresse," My joy would be, thou pretty waitress, Myself on thee to wait, O, To fill thy cup, to hand thy dish, To serve in turn or fowl or fish, Or pickle or potato. No! keep thy tray, my pretty maid. By me thou shalt not be betray'd, Nor with thee can I mate, O. Still, still, the love I bear thee, Kate, That love, sweet changer of my plate, Shall be the love of Plato. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ORANGE PICKER by DAVID IGNATOW THE FAMILY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE BLACK COTTAGE by ROBERT FROST THE FIRESIDE by NATHANIEL COTTON WERE I BUT HIS OWN WIFE by ELLEN MARY PATRICK DOWNING THE PHILOSOPHER by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY POEM FOR PICTURE: TO AN OIL PAINTING BY WINSLOW HOMER (DRIFTWOOD) by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. |