I DO not love you very much, Only your tuneful voice, Which, in a happy moment, takes The music of my choice. I do not love you, dear, at all, Only your merry ways, Which linger in my mind, and set Me dreaming through the days. In truth, I think it is dislike You kindle in my heart, Because you come so joyously To steal so large a part. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGS OUT OF SORROW: REFUGE by SARA TEASDALE GOOD FRIDAY, 1613. RIDING WESTWARD by JOHN DONNE HOME (2) by EDGAR ALBERT GUEST SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO SAN FRANCISCO by SAMUEL JOHN ALEXANDER |