Relationship Help from Inspiration Point | home
To Jane | To Celia | Sweet, Can I Sing | My Love's A Match | If thou must love me | September | Sonnet XLIII | Meeting at Night | The First Day
My Love's A Match
Written by Alfred P. Graves
My Love's a match in beauty
For every flower that blows,
Her little ear's a lilly,
Her velvet cheek a rose;
Her locks are gilly gowans
Hang golden to her knee.
If I were King of Ireland,
My Queen she'd surely be.
Her eyes are fond forget-me-nots,
And no such snow is seen
Upon the heaving hawthorn bush
As crests her bodice green.
The thrushes when she's talking
Sit listening on the tree.
If I were King of Ireland,
My Queen she'd surely be.