Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 47

​

XLVII ELEANOR
Plant not the lily here!No lily lies below.The crimson rose to her was dear,And the summer of the year,   Not the snow.
​
 Sing no lament!She loved a merry song.For her the birds were sent.To her the humming of the golden bees,And the murmur of trees   Shall belong.

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.