Robert Seymour Bridges (Роберт Сеймур Бриджес)

* * *

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. To Joseph Joachim
3. Poor Withered Rose and Dry
4. Sometimes When My Lady Sits by Me
5. A Robin

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