Around were all the roses red, The ivy all around was black. Dear, so thou only move thine head, Shall all mine old despairs awake! Too blue, too tender was the sky, The air too soft, too green the sea. Always I fear, I know not why, Some lamentable flight from thee. I am so tired of holly-sprays And weary of the bright box-tree, Of all the endless country ways; Of everything alas! save thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE: THE MEDITERRANEAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA ASOLANDO: NOW by ROBERT BROWNING YOU ON THE TOWER by THOMAS HARDY THE AKOND [OR, AKHOND] OF SWAT by EDWARD LEAR THE BLOOD HORSE by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER A SOUL; A STUDY by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE BURNING BABE by ROBERT SOUTHWELL TO MY FRIEND MR. THOMAS FLATMAN, ON THE PUBLISHING OF THESE HIS POEMS by FRANCIS BARNARD (D. 1698) |