Chanson Un Peu Naïve
What body can be ploughed,
Sown, and broken yearly?
But she would not die, she vowed,
But she has, nearly.
Sing, heart sing;
Call and carol clearly.
And, since she could not die,
Care would be a feather,
A film over the eye
Of two that lie together.
Fly, song, fly,
Break your little tether.
So from strength concealed
She makes her pretty boast:
Plain is a furrow healed
And she may love you most.
Cry, song, cry,
And hear your crying lost.
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Comments about this poem (Chanson Un Peu Naïve by Louise Bogan )
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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