TO HIS COY ONE

 SEEST thou yon smiling Orange?
Upon the tree still hangs it;
Already March bath vanish'd,
And new-born flow'rs are shooting.

I draw nigh to the tree then,
And there I say: Oh Orange,
Thou ripe and juicy Orange,
Thou sweet and luscious Orange,
I shake the tree, I shake it,
Oh fall into my lap!

1789.
*

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...