Ye silent shades, whose each tree here <br />Some relique of a saint doth wear; <br />Who for some sweet-heart's sake, did prove <br />The fire and martyrdom of Love:-- <br />Here is the legend of those saints <br />That died for love, and their complaints; <br />Their wounded hearts, and names we find <br />Encarved upon the leaves and rind. <br />Give way, give way to me, who come <br />Scorch'd with the self-same martyrdom! <br />And have deserved as much, Love knows, <br />As to be canonized 'mongst those <br />Whose deeds and deaths here written are <br />Within your Greeny-kalendar. <br />--By all those virgins' fillets hung <br />Upon! your boughs, and requiems sung <br />For saints and souls departed hence, <br />Here honour'd still with frankincense; <br />By all those tears that have been shed, <br />As a drink-offering to the dead; <br />By all those true-love knots, that be <br />With mottoes carved on every tree; <br />By sweet Saint Phillis! pity me; <br />By dear Saint Iphis! and the rest <br />Of all those other saints now blest, <br />Me, me forsaken,--here admit <br />Among your myrtles to be writ; <br />That my poor name may have the glory <br />To live remember'd in your story.<br /><br />Robert Herrick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-groves/
