I had a dove

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 lived alone in the forest tree,
Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me?
I kissed you oft and gave you white peas:
Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?

John Keats