I had a dove and the sweet dove died; / And I have thought it died of grieving: / O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, / With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving; / Sweet little red feet! why should you die-- / Why should you leave me, sweet bird! why? / You liv'd alone in the forest-tree, / Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me? / I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas; / Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?
It’s only the greatest literary scene of all time, really.