To you the homage of this book I bring. The earliest and the latest flowers I yield, And though their hues betray a barren field, I know you will not slight the offering. You were the mate of my poetic spring; To you its buds of little worth concealed More than the summer years have since revealed, Or doubtful autumn from the stem shall fling. But here they are, the buds, the blossoms blown! If rich or scant, the wreath is at your feet; And though it were the freshest ever grown, To you its incense could not be more sweet, Since with it goes a love to match your own, A heart, dear Friend, that never falsely beat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK COTTAGE by ROBERT FROST THE CANDLE INDOORS by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS VETERAN SIRENS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE LAY OF THE LOVER'S FRIEND by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN FIRST CYCLE OF LOVE POEMS: 2 by GEORGE BARKER THE HOME-COMING by KATHARINE LEE BATES |