BELINDA in her dimity, Whereon are wrought pink roses, Trips through the boxwood paths to me, A-down the garden closes, As though a hundred roses came, ('Twas so I thought) to meet me, As though one rosebud said my name And bent its head to greet me. Belinda, in your rose-wrought dress You seemed the garden's growing; The tilt and toss o' you, no less Than wind-swayed posy blowing. 'Twas so I watched in sweet dismay, Lest in that happy hour, Sudden you'd stop and thrill and sway And turn into a flower. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CREDO by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO A FAT LADY SEEN FROM THE TRAIN by FRANCES CROFTS DARWIN CORNFORD BROWNING AT ASOLO by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON THE EVENING CLOUD by JOHN WILSON (1785-1854) ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 7. TO REVEREND BENJAMIN, LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER by MARK AKENSIDE PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 38. AL-KABIR by EDWIN ARNOLD WHITENESS, OR CHASTITY by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |