Author Mary Elizabeth Coleridge One gave me a ring. One planted an ivy bower. One gave me a bird to sing, —And one a flower. The golden ring is golden still, The ivy leaves are overhead. A boy came by, my bird to kill, —And my flower's dead. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments