William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

The Blossom - Poem by William Shakespeare

ON a day--alack the day!--
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind
All unseen 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet!
Do not call it sin in me
That I am forsworn for thee;
Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiop were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.

Comments about The Blossom by William Shakespeare

  • Rookie - 184 Points Brian Jani (4/26/2014 4:36:00 PM)

    Awesome I like this poem, check mine out  (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Gold Star - 36,824 Points * Sunprincess * (10/18/2012 11:31:00 PM)

    wow love this one so picturesque and love is for May..beautiful metaphor.. :) (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: sick, heaven, wind, death, love

Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003

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