Wednesday, December 11, 2013

I Had a Dove by John Keats



I had a dove and the sweet dove died;


And I have thought it died of grieving:

O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied

With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving:

Sweet little red feet! Why should you die —

Why should you leave me, sweet bird? Why?

You lived alone in the forest tree,

Why, pretty thing, would you not live with me?

I kissed you oft and gave you white peas:

Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?

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