I Bended Unto Me A Bough
Sir Thomas Brown
I bended unto me a bough of May, That I might see and smell: It bore it in a sort of way, It bore it very well. But, when I let it backward sway, Then it were hard to tell With what a toss, with what a swing, The dainty thing Resumed its proper level, And sent me to the devil. I know it did--you doubt it? I turned, and saw them whispering about it.
Next 10 Poems
- Sir Thomas Brown : Ibant Obscur
- Sir Thomas Brown : If Thou Could'st Empty All Thyself Of Self
- Sir Thomas Brown : Jessie
- Sir Thomas Brown : Land, Ho!
- Sir Thomas Brown : My Garden
- Sir Thomas Brown : Opifex
- Sir Thomas Brown : Pain
- Sir Thomas Brown : Risus Dei
- Sir Thomas Brown : Salve!
- Sir Thomas Brown : Specula