|
|
Roses And Rue
By Sara Teasdale
Bring me the roses white and red,
And take the laurel leaves away;
Yea, wreathe the roses round my head
That wearies 'neath the crown of bay.
"We searched the wintry forests thro'
And found no roses anywhere
But we have brought a little rue
To twine a circlet for your hair."
I would not pluck the rose in May,
I wove a laurel crown instead;
And when the crown is cast away,
They bring me rue, the rose is dead.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 778 times.
|
|
