To the Rose. A Song.
Go, happy Rose, and interwoveWith other flowers, bind my Love.Tell her, too, she must not beLonger flowing, longer free,That so oft has fetter'd me.
Say, if she's fretful, I have bandsOf pearl and gold, to bind her hands;Tell her, if she struggle still,I have myrtle rods at will,For to tame, though not to kill.
Take thou my blessing thus, and goAnd tell her this,--but do not so!--Lest a handsome anger flyLike a lightning from her eye,And burn thee up, as well as I!
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