If she be fair, Give her my love and duty; If she be truly fair, Give her my love. Sweet and delicate and rare, At the end of a wind-blown, fragrant bough The apple swings: If I, who fly no more, had wings, Or if my wizardry knew how, I'd wing to where that sweetness swings At the end of the bough. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MERCILES BEAUTE; A TRIPLE ROUNDEL: 1. CAPTIVITY by GEOFFREY CHAUCER PARTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER by JOHN KEATS MAUDE CLARE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI WIFE, CHILDREN AND FRIENDS by WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER 1916 SEEN FROM 1921 by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST by VINCENT BOURNE OUT OF THE SILENCE by S. MINERVA BOYCE ON THE DEATH OF SMET-SMET, THE HIPPOTAMUS-GODDESS by RUPERT BROOKE |