IF I only had time! I could make you a rhyme. But my time is kept flying By smiling and sighing And living and dying for you. The song-seed, I sow it, I water and hoe it, But never can grow it. Ah, traitress, you know it! What is a poor poet to do? Ah, let me take breath! I am harried to death By the loves and the graces That crowd where your face is That lurk in your laces and throng. Call them off for a minute, Once let me begin it The devil is in it If I can not spin it As sweet as a linnet, your song! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HILL ABOVE THE MINE by MALCOLM COWLEY DRUMS AND BRASS by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON THE GIFT TO SING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON IN THE UNDERWORLD by ISAAC ROSENBERG HUFFMAN'S PHOTOGRAPH OF THE GRAVES OF THE UNKNOWN AT LITTLE BIGHORN by KAREN SWENSON PROTESTS (AFTER A PAINTING BY HUGO BALLIN) by LOUIS UNTERMEYER |