188. To the Rose: Song
Go, happy Rose, and interwoveWith other flowers, bind my Love.Tell her, too, she must not beLonger flowing, longer free,That so oft has fetter’d me.
Say, if she’s fretful, I have bandsOf pearl and gold, to bind her hands;Tell her, if she struggle still,I have myrtle rods at will,For to tame, though not to kill.
Take thou my blessing thus, and goAnd tell her this,—but do not so!—Lest a handsome anger flyLike a lightning from her eye,And burn thee up, as well as I!