Heartsaorta

Don't perch me upon a cotton cloud Or quarter me by the country lake; No fields of grain inspire me now, Nor misty hues above the creek. I have seen too many daffodils And belle bluebells too pall my soul, These mockingjays do not arouse A drop of woe, a drip of joy. Instead set me off upon a barge Where the shadows meet, by day or night; Off to a shade where silence unites With her soundless charms of quietude. And leave my haunt with little tint A monochrome wind, a fickle farewell, And write to me once every fortnight From the confines of your recent grave. And here let there be no robin's song, No blackbird's lay, no warb