To you, let snow and roses And golden locks belong: These are the world's enslavers, Let these delight the throng. But for her of duskier lustre, Whose favour still I wear, The snow be in her kirtle, The rose be in her hair! The hue of Highland rivers Careering, full and cool, From sable on to golden, From rapid on to pool -- The hue of heather-honey, The hue of honey-bees, Shall tinge her golden shoulder, Shall gild her tawny knees. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EARLY MORN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 3. BY HER AUNT'S GRAVE by THOMAS HARDY BOTHWELL: PART 1 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE TIMES by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD CHANCES OF REMEMBRANCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN PRESERVES by ANITA GRAY CHANDLER THE CANTERBURY TALES: THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE - THE EPILOGUE by GEOFFREY CHAUCER |