The Poetry Corner

To Sycamores.

By Robert Herrick

I'm sick of love, O let me lie Under your shades to sleep or die! Either is welcome, so I have Or here my bed, or here my grave. Why do you sigh, and sob, and keep Time with the tears that I do weep? Say, have ye sense, or do you prove What crucifixions are in love? I know ye do, and that's the why You sigh for love as well as I.