THOUGH Nature's lonesome, leafless bowers, With winter's awful snows are white, The tender smell of leaves and flowers Makes May-time in my room to-night: While some, in homeless poverty, Shrink moaning from the bitter blast; What am I, that my lines should be In good and pleasant places cast? When other souls despairing stand, And plead with famished lips to-day, Why is it that a loving hand Should scatter blossoms in my way? O flowers, with soft and dewy eyes, To God my gratitude reveal; Send up your incense to the skies, And utter, for me, what I feel! O innocent roses, in your buds Hiding for very modesty; O violets, smelling of the woods, Thank Him, with all your sweets for me! And tell him, I would give this hour All that is mine of good beside, To have the pure heart of a flower, That has no stain of sin to hide. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARTHA WASHINGTON by SIDNEY LANIER IMITATION OF POPE: A COMPLIMENT TO THE LADIES by WILLIAM BLAKE A BOY'S SUMMER SONG by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE MEDITATION OF THE OLD FISHERMAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS LOVE'S NEW PHILOSOPHY by PHILIP AYRES SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 14. 'I LOVE THEE' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |