by Sara Teasdale
Oh if I were the velvet rose Upon the red rose vine, I'd climb to touch his window And make his casement fine. And if I were the little bird That twitters on the tree, All day I'd sing my love for him Till he should harken me. But since I am a maiden I go with downcast eyes, And he will never hear the songs That he has turned to sighs. And since I am a maiden My love will never know That I could kiss him with a mouth More red than roses blow.