I bended unto me a Bough

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I bended unto me a bough of May,That I might see and smell:It bore it in a sort of way,It bore it very well.But, when I let it backward sway,Then it were hard to tellWith what a toss, with what a swing,The dainty thingResumed its proper level,And sent me to the devil.I know it did--you doubt it?I turned, and saw them whispering about it.

© Brown Thomas Edward