TRAVELLER, pluck a stem of moly, If thou touch at Circe's isle,— Hermes' moly, growing solely To undo enchanter's wile! When she proffers thee her chalice,— Wine and spices mixed with malice,— When she smites thee with her staff To transform thee, do thou laugh! Safe thou art if thou but bear The least leaf of moly rare. Close it grows beside her portal, Springing from a stock immortal, Yes! and often has the Witch Sought to tear it from its niche; But to thwart her cruel will The wise God renews it still. Though it grows in soil perverse, Heaven hath been its jealous nurse, And a flower of snowy mark Springs from root and sheathing dark; Kingly safeguard, only herb That can brutish passion curb! Some do think its name should be Shield-Heart, White Integrity. Traveller, pluck a stem of moly, If thou touch at Circe's isle,— Hermes' moly, growing solely To undo enchanter's wile! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH AND CUPID by ELIZABETH I A CHRISTMAS FOLK-SONG by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHICH PASSETH KNOWLEDGE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ON BEING BROUGHT FROM AFRICA TO AMERICA by PHILLIS WHEATLEY WAR AUTOBIOGRAPHY; WRITTEN IN ILLNESS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |