What though my harp and viol be
Both hung upon the willow tree?
What though my bed be now my grave,
And for my house I darkness have?
What though my healthful days are fled,
And I lie number'd with the dead?
Yet I have hope, by Thy great power,
To spring; though now a wither'd flower.
To God: On His Sickness.
Robert Herrick
(1)
Poem topics: flower, hope, house, power, spring, tree, great, grave, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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