WHICH flower I love, I cannot discover; This grief doth impart. In every calix I search like a lover, And seek a heart. The flowers smell sweet in the sun's setting splendour, The nightingale sings. I seek for a heart that like my heart is tender, And like it springs. The nightingale sings; his sweet song, void of gladness, Comes home to my breast; We're both so oppress'd and heavy with sadness, So sad and oppress'd. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOREFATHER by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON A MODEST LOVE; SONG by EDWARD DYER GRASS FINGERS by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE EPISTLE TO ROBERT, EARL OF OXFORD, AND EARL MORTIMER by ALEXANDER POPE ALCAICS: TO H. F. BROWN by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON LATIMER AND RIDLEY, BURNED AT THE STAKE IN OXFORD, 1555 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |