SHE for whom my heart once beat Was a rosebud fair and tender; Yet it ever grew more sweet, Bursting into full-blown splendour. 'Twas the loveliest that could be, And to pluck it I bethought me; But it stung me piquantly With its thorns, and prudence taught me. Now, when wither'd, torn, and maim'd, By the wind and tempests shatter'd, "Dearest Henry" I'm proclaim'd, And I'm follow'd, sought, and flatter'd. Henry here and Henry there Calleth she with ceaseless din now; If a thorn is anywhere, 'Tis upon the fair one's chin now. O how hard the bristles grow On the chin's warts of my beauty! Either to a convent go, Or to shave will be thy duty. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVE SONG OF J. ALFRED PRUFROCK by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM by ALEXANDER POPE MY PRAYER FOR TODAY by MAUD AKERS TO ANACREON by ANTIPATER OF SIDON THE OLD CAMP; WRITTEN IN A ROMAN FORTIFICATION IN BAVARIA by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |