To Sycamores.

A poem by Robert Herrick

I'm sick of love, O let me lie
Under your shades to sleep or die!
Either is welcome, so I have
Or here my bed, or here my grave.
Why do you sigh, and sob, and keep
Time with the tears that I do weep?
Say, have ye sense, or do you prove
What crucifixions are in love?
I know ye do, and that's the why
You sigh for love as well as I.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'To Sycamores.' by Robert Herrick

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy