The Rivals See all items with this value

If thou guessed what easy hours
I can fleet among my flowers,
How I fondle them, and how
Find them better friends than Thou,
Haply, love, the thing might shame thee;
Haply with some spite inflame thee.
Nay, indeed, thou art not all;
And I can forget thy thrall.
For I shall when summer comes
Sport me with my garden chums,
Orchid, harebell, fern, and foxglove.
Then thou'lt tear thy pretty locks, love,
Twisting curls round jealous fingers. ...;
When thou find'st thy true love lingers
Longer o'er the rose than thee,
Know thou hast great rivalry;
Cry to see it, careless elf,
Bite thy lips, but blame thyself!
Many a slim tree, dark of tresses,
Whispering, gives me strange caresses.
Steadfast shines Narcissus' eye
When I would his beauty try.
And he loads my sighs with scent,
Not with frowns of discontent.
Water lilies all tranquil lie
When their secrecies I spy.
Ruddy pout the mouths of roses---
More I kiss, more each uncloses.
Even violets, who are shy
Of their cousin in the sky,
Do not stiffen or resent
When a fingertip is bent
Round their chins. And if, like thee,
Little snowdrops were foot-free,
Would they run from me, and vent
Laughs of scornful merriment?
Nay, they love me, as I them.
Oh, my loves of bud and stem,
Tell my Maid what lightsome hours
I spend with you in your bowers
This may pique her jealousy;
Haply charm her back to me.

3368.txt

Owen, Wilfred (1893-1918) See all items with this value

1912

Poem

The First World War Poetry Digital Archive

3368.txt