IN spring, when branches of woodbine Hung leafless over the rocks, And the fleecy snow in the hollows Lay in unshepherded flocks, By the road where the dead leaves rustled, Or damply matted the ground, While over me gurgled the robin His honeyed passion of sound, I saw the trailing arbutus Blooming in modesty sweet, And gathered store of its richness Offered and spread at my feet. It grew under leaves, as if seeking No hint of itself to disclose, And out of its pink-white petals A delicate perfume rose, As faint as the fond remembrance Of joy that was only dreamed; And like a divine suggestion The scent of the flower seemed. I had sought for love on the highway, For love unselfish and pure, And had found it in good deeds blooming, Though often in haunts obscure. Often in leaves by the wayside, But touched with a heavenly glow, And with self-sacrifice fragrant, The flowers of great love grow. O lovely and lowly arbutus! As year unto year succeeds, Be thou the laurel and emblem Of noble, unselfish deeds. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WANDERER: A ROCOCO STUDY (FIRST VERSION) by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS SPOILS OF THE DEAD by ROBERT FROST TALL NETTLES by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS A NAMELESS EPITAPH (2) by MATTHEW ARNOLD WRITTEN ON THE LEAVES OF A FAN by FRANCIS ATTERBURY |