John Clare

* * *

    My love, thou art a nosegay sweet,
      My sweetest flower I prove thee;
    And pleas’d I pin thee to my breast,
      And dearly do I love thee.

    And when, my nosegay, thou shalt fade,
      As sweet a flower thou’lt prove thee;
    And as thou witherest on my breast,
      For beauty past I’ll love thee.

    And when, my nosegay, thou shalt die,
      And heaven’s flower shalt prove thee;
    My hopes shall follow to the sky,
      And everlasting love thee.