SHEW me no more the Marigold, Whose leaves like grieved arms do fold, My longings nothing can explain, But soul and body rent in twain, Did I not moan, And sign and groan, And talk alone, I should believe my Soul were gone from home: She's gone, she's gone, away she's fled, Within thy breast to make her bed; In me there dwells her tenant, woe, And sighs are all the breath I blow: Then come to me, One touch of thee Will make me see Whether living thus, alive or dead, I be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BIRDS OF VIETNAM by HAYDEN CARRUTH WHEN I WROTE A LITTLE by HAYDEN CARRUTH TO CARMEN SYLVA (QUEEN OF ROUMANIA) by EMMA LAZARUS VERY EARLY SPRING by KATHERINE MANSFIELD A MENDOCINO MEMORY by EDWIN MARKHAM |