<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117651" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Song from Aella</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">O SING unto my roundelay,<br>O drop the briny tear with me;<br>Dance no more at holyday,<br>Like a running river be:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> My love is dead,<br> Gone to his death-bed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All under the willow-tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Black his cryne as the winter night,<br>White his rode as the summer snow,<br>Red his face as the morning light,<br>Cole he lies in the grave below:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> My love is dead,<br> Gone to his death-bed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All under the willow-tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note,<br>Quick in dance as thought can be,<br>Deft his tabor, cudgel stout;<br>O he lies by the willow-tree!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> My love is dead,<br> Gone to his death-bed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All under the willow-tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hark! the raven flaps his wing<br>In the brier'd dell below;<br>Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing<br>To the nightmares, as they go:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> My love is dead,<br> Gone to his death-bed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All under the willow-tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">See! the white moon shines on high;<br>Whiter is my true-love's shroud:<br>Whiter than the morning sky,<br>Whiter than the evening cloud:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> My love is dead,<br> Gone to his death-bed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All under the willow-tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here upon my true-love's grave<br>Shall the barren flowers be laid;<br>Not one holy saint to save<br>All the coldness of a maid:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> My love is dead,<br> Gone to his death-bed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All under the willow-tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With my hands I'll dent the briers<br>Round his holy corse to gre:<br>Ouph and fairy, light your fires,<br>Here my body still shall be:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> My love is dead,<br> Gone to his death-bed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All under the willow-tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, with acorn-cup and thorn,<br>Drain my heartès blood away;<br>Life and all its good I scorn,<br>Dance by night, or feast by day:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> My love is dead,<br> Gone to his death-bed</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All under the willow-tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Chatterton">Thomas Chatterton</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=117651" data-title="Song from Aella de Thomas Chatterton" data-description="O SING unto my roundelay,/O drop the briny tear with me;/Dance no more at holyday,/Like a running river be:/ My love is dead,/ Gone to his death-bed/All under the willow-tree./Black his cryne as the winter night,/White his rode as the summer snow,..."></div> </div> </div>

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