by Christina Rossetti
MY heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love has come to me.
Raise me a dias of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
Burning Leaves, November
by Christopher Morley
WHEN withered leaves are lost in flame
Their eddying gosts, a thin blue haze,
Blow through the thickets whence they came
On amberlucent autumn days.
The cool green woodland heart receives
Their dim, dissolving, phantom breath;
In young hereditaty leaves
They see their happy life-in-death.
My minutes perish as they glow--
Time burns my crazy bonfire through;
But ghosts of blackened hours still blow,
Eternal Beauty, back to you!
*Yours and Mine: ET Poets United*
Yours and Mine:Poetry by catagory