OREGON HOLLY by WILLIAM STEWARD GORDON

As holly tells of feudal days,
Of yuletide feasts and laughter,
So thou, the pride of Oregon,
Shall trail thy glories after.

When woodland flowers are all asleep
And hazel wands are bare,
You reign like some primeval chief
Who oft has tented there.

Your leaves are laundered by the rain,
And glossed by winter's wing
To garnish festive hall and home,
And the temples of our King.

Hast holly sharper spines than thou?
Her leaves a richer hue?
If she should boast of berries red,
Boast thou of berries blue.

And if perchance, from prestige proud,
She does not grant your greatness,
Then take this arrow and atone
For any charge of lateness:

"O'er every sea the healed have sung
The virtues of my root—
Can English Mary's famous tree
Make bitters from its foot?"

Let holly reign in Britain's land
And Scotland sing of heather;
For us, the grape of Oregon
Has both their charms together.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!

Other Poems of Interest...