Song

I had a dove and the sweet dove died;

And I have thought it died of grieving:

O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied,

With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving;

Sweet little red feet! why should you die --

Why should you leave me, sweet bird! why?

You lived alone in the forest tree,

Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me?

I kissed you oft and gave you white peas:

Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?