The Dove

John Keats

I had a dove, and the sweet dove died;
And I have thought it died of grieving:
Oh, what could it grieve for? its feet were tied
With a silken thread of my own hands’ weaving.
Sweet little red feet! Why should you die—
Why would you leave me, sweet bird! why?
You lived alone in the forest tree;
Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me?
I kiss’d you oft and gave you white peas;
Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?

Next 10 Poems

• John Keats : The Eve Of St. Agnes
• John Keats : The Human Seasons
• John Keats : Think Not Of It, Sweet One
• John Keats : Think Of It Not, Sweet One
• John Keats : This Living Hand
• John Keats : To -
• John Keats : To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses
• John Keats : To A Young Lady Who Sent Me A Laurel Crown
• John Keats : To Ailsa Rock
• John Keats : To Autumn

Previous 10 Poems

• John Keats : The Day Is Gone, And All Its Sweets Are Gone
• John Keats : Stanzas
• John Keats : Sonnet: On The Sonnet
• John Keats : Song Of The Indian Maid, From 'endymion'
• John Keats : Robin Hood
• John Keats : On The Sea
• John Keats : On The Grasshopper And Cricket
• John Keats : On Sitting Down To Read King Lear Once Again
• John Keats : On Seeing The Elgin Marbles For The First Time
• John Keats : On Leaving Some Friends At An Early Hour