The Dove Poem
by John Keats
I had a dove, and the sweet dove died;
And I have thought it died of grieving:
Oh, what could it grieve for? its feet were tied
With a silken thread of my own hands’ weaving.
Sweet little red feet! Why should you die
Why would you leave me, sweet bird! why?
You lived alone in the forest tree;
Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me?
I kiss’d you oft and gave you white peas;
Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?
Use Coupon code: 7D7-AVH-HUG
|
(4)
January (4)
February
(1)
March (1)
(2)
April (2)
(2)
May (2)
June
(1)
July (1)
(2)
August (2)
September
October
November
(2)
December (2)
|
January
February
March
April
(2)
May (2)
June
(1)
July (1)
(2)
August (2)
(1)
September (1)
(4)
October (4)
(1)
November (1)
(2)
December (2)
|
(2)
January (2)
(2)
February (2)
(1)
March (1)
(1)
April (1)
(2)
May (2)
June
(3)
July (3)
(2)
August (2)
(2)
September (2)
(1)
October (1)
(5)
November (5)
(1)
December (1)
|
January
February
(1)
March (1)
(2)
April (2)
(5)
May (5)
(1)
June (1)
(1)
July (1)
(1)
August (1)
(4)
September (4)
October
(2)
November (2)
(3)
December (3)
|
January
(1)
February (1)
March
April
(2)
May (2)
(1)
June (1)
July
(2)
August (2)
(1)
September (1)
October
November
(1)
December (1)
|
January
(2)
February (2)
(1)
March (1)
(1)
April (1)
May
(1)
June (1)
(1)
July (1)
August
September
October
(1)
November (1)
(1)
December (1)
|
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
|
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
|
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
|
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
|
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
|
January
February
March
April
May
June
July
August
September
October
November
December
|