This is one my favorite poems, by W.B Yeats. I don’t have much to say about it, except that I have always enjoyed it. Like all good poems, it can be reread again and again and always seem new. It has a sort of lyrical melancholy that appeals to me. I think all good love poems should have at least a little of that.
DOWN by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.