Oh, cut me reeds to blow upon,
Or gather me a star,
But leave the sultry passion-flowers
Growing where they are.
I fear their sombre yellow deeps,
Their whirling fringe of black,
And he who gives a passion-flower
Always asks it back.
About Infoplease, Part of Family Education Network
© 2000–2016 Sandbox Networks, Inc., publishing as Infoplease