Rosalind, thy name is like a song,
Sung at the heavenly gates themselves.
Saying thy name could never turn our wrong.
Thy name and face were crafted by the elves,
Who created all the beauty in the world.
They cast you out of heaven, Rosalind
For beside thee they are all but gnarled
A face like thine could scarce be imagined,
By all the muses, gods and goddesses.
Thine features are an honour to behold,
I envy all thine jewels and dresses,
For they are with you always, get to hold.
- Thine supple form, thy shape, close to thy heart,
Mine envy tear me open, it doth smart.
YOU ARE READING
As You Like It poems
PoetryI am performing the Shakespeare play 'As You Like It'. In this play Orlando writes many (bad) poems which he hangs on trees. We thought it would be fun to give the audience some of these poems so I have been hard at work setting pen to paper.
