|
|
Out Of Time, Out Of Tune.
By Robert Herrick
We blame, nay, we despise her pains
That wets her garden when it rains:
But when the drought has dried the knot,
Then let her use the wat'ring-pot.
We pray for showers, at our need,
To drench, but not to drown our seed.
Extra Info:
Knot, quaintly shaped flower-bed.
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 419 times.
|
|
