New England woods are softly fair, And many marvels gather there -- The flaming bush, the soaring pine, The shining birch, the swinging vine; But lord of all the varied scene I rank the lowly wintergreen. Its glossy little leaves are found Close creeping on the humble ground, But all the sweetness of the wood, Its fragrant quaintness firm and good, Its charms that dazzle and enchant, Are centred in the modest plant. Those thick and lustrous leaves contain The essence of this dear domain, Its flavor, kindly, pungent, keen, The homely taste of wintergreen, Its flower a Puritanic white, Its berry scarlet for delight. How sturdily it lifts its head And shows its glowing green and red! How through the winter cold and bare It still is fragrant, fresh, and fair, And, like its own New England, knows A grace that shines in deepest snows! |