King Henry's Lament For His Third Wife.
As the winds turn biting cold,
and, as green leaves turn to gold,
a cloak of velvet I would fold
around your form, your grace,
With each step on icy ground,
with each heartbeat's hollow sound,
a hood of swansdown I'd place round
your pretty, pale, sad face,
Would that I could end this pain,
hear your laughter ring again,
dance with you, my dearest Jane,
and bring you from this place.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
