How rich, O Lord! how fresh thy visits are! 'Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung Sullied with dust and mud; Each snarling blast shot through me, and did share Their youth and beauty, cold showers nipped and wrung Their spiciness and blood; But since thou didst in one sweet glance survey Their sad decays, I flourish, and once more Breathe all perfumes and spice; I smell a dew like @3myrrh@1, and all the day Wear in my bosom a full Sun; such store Hath one beam from thy eyes. But, ah, my God! what fruit hast thou of this? What one poor leaf did ever I yet fall To wait upon thy wreath? Thus thou all day a thankless weed dost dress, And when th' hast done, a stench, or fog is all The odour I bequeath. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BALLAD OF JUDAS ISCARIOT by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN THE LAWYER'S WAYS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 52. WILLOWWOOD (4) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE BAYADERE by FRANCIS SALTUS SALTUS THE WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA by ALFRED TENNYSON |