I Bended Unto Me A Bough

Sir Thomas Brown

I bended unto me a bough of May,
That I might see and smell:
It bore it in a sort of way,
It bore it very well.
But, when I let it backward sway,
Then it were hard to tell
With what a toss, with what a swing,
The dainty thing
Resumed its proper level,
And sent me to the devil.
I know it did--you doubt it?
I turned, and saw them whispering about it. 

Next 10 Poems

• Sir Thomas Brown : Ibant Obscur
• Sir Thomas Brown : If Thou Could'st Empty All Thyself Of Self
• Sir Thomas Brown : Jessie
• Sir Thomas Brown : Land, Ho!
• Sir Thomas Brown : My Garden
• Sir Thomas Brown : Opifex
• Sir Thomas Brown : Pain
• Sir Thomas Brown : Risus Dei
• Sir Thomas Brown : Salve!
• Sir Thomas Brown : Specula

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• Sir Thomas Brown : Disguises
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• Rupert Brooke : Waikiki
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