Sweet spoils of consecrated bowers, How dear to me these chosen flowers! I love the simplest bud that blows, I love the meanest weed that grows: Symbols of nature—every form That speaks of her this heart can warm; But ye, delicious flowers, assume In fancy's eye a brighter bloom; A dearer pleasure ye diffuse, Cull'd by the fountain of Vaucluse! For ye were nurtur'd on the sod Where PETRARCH mourn'd, and LAURA trod; Ye grew on that inspiring ground Where love has shed enchantment round; Where still the tear of passion flows, Fond tribute to a poet's woes! Yet, cherish'd flowers, with love and fame This wreath entwines a milder name; Friendship, who better knows than they The spells that smooth our length'ning way,— Friendship the blooming off'ring brought; When FORBES the classic fountain sought, For me he cull'd the fresh-blown flowers, And fix'd their hues with potent powers; Their pliant forms with skilful care He seized, and stamp'd duration there; His gift shall ever glad the eye,— Nor, like my verse is born to die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY CROSS DAY by ROBERT BROWNING AND WHAT SHALL YOU SAY? by JOSEPH SEAMON COTTER JR. A LINE-STORM SONG by ROBERT FROST THE TUFT OF FLOWERS by ROBERT FROST AFTER THE BURIAL by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL |