I Bended Unto Me a Bough of May. 
By Brown, Thomas Edward. 


I bended unto me a bough of May,
That I might see and smell:
It bore it in a sort of way;
It bore it very well.
But when I let it backward sway,
Then it were hard to tell
With what a toss, with what a swing,
The dainty thing
Resumed its proper level,
And sent me to the devil.
I know it did -you doubt it?
I turned, and saw them whispering about it.