Sweet sister, in a minute's span
Death parts thee, love of thee;
Sweet love, that yet lives,
Come back, true love, to comfort me.
Back, ah, come back! ah wellaway!
But my love comes not, even for a day.
As roses, when the warm West blows,
Break to full flower and sweeten spring,
My soul would break to a glorious rose
At a mear hit of your whispering.
In vain I listen; wellaway!
My love says nothing any day.
You that will weep for pity or love
On the low place where I lay,
I pray you, having wept enough,
Tell yourself for whom I bore such pain
That thou art yet, ah! wellaway!
My true love to my dying day.
2007-07-23
09:06:54
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8 answers
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asked by
Anonymous
in
Poetry