A poem I wrote for English.


But Tell Her of Thine Love

Oh when her heart beats next to thine

Her heart dost thrill. Yet not her soul.

Thine touch is soft – but is all fine?

Why should she deserve thine all?

The girl who has not much to show;

Though what she has, she gives in whole.

'You silly girl, I only know

Each day because I see thine love.

Why dost thou fear I'd ever go?

Among the pigeons thou art a dove,

Thou bringst the light to ev'ry morn'.

Thine lips are richest treasure trove.'

Her soul no longer cries forlorn,

Those childish tears no longer shed.

Now brush her hair of golden corn

And lay sweet kisses on her head.