Poem by Robert Seymour Bridges

* * *

I found to-day out walking
  The flower my love loves best.
What, when I stooped to pluck it,
  Could dare my hand arrest?

Was it a snake lay curling
  About the root’s thick crown?
Or did some hidden bramble
  Tear my hand reaching down?

There was no snake uncurling,
  And no thorn wounded me;
’Twas my heart checked me, sighing
  She is beyond the sea.

1. The Palm Willow
2. January
3. Sometimes When My Lady Sits by Me
4. A Robin
5. Poor Withered Rose and Dry

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