Poem for July 23, 2024

Go, happy Rose, and interwove

With other flowers, bind my Love.

Tell her, too, she must not be

Longer flowing, longer free,

That so oft has fetter'd me.

Say, if she's fretful, I have bands

Of 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 go

And tell her this,--but do not so!--

Lest a handsome anger fly

Like a lightning from her eye,

And burn thee up, as well as I!