Song by John Keats
I had a dove and the sweet dove died;
And I have thought it died of grieving:
O, what could it grieve for? It was tied,
With a silken thread of my own hand’s weaving;
Sweet little red feet! Why did you die-
Why would you leave me, sweet dove! Why?
You liv’d alone on the forest-tree,
Why, pretty thing! Could you not live with me?
I kiss’d you oft and gave you white peas;
Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?