A Birthday

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a dais of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

by Christina Georgina Rossetti

Comments (2)

It's a blow to the ego, and to think that they just may find someone out there who is better than us. Nobody likes to lose, even if it is the best thing. It still hurts like hell. Linda
The feeling of losing what you had before the fights. Sometimes loneliness. A true insight Charles. Patricia