Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO THE MULBERRY-TREE, by CHARLOTTE SMITH


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO THE MULBERRY-TREE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Hither, in half blown garlands drest
Last Line: What patience, industry, and art, can do.
Alternate Author Name(s): Smith, Charlotte Turner
Subject(s): Mulberry Trees


On reading the oriental aphorism, "by patience and labour the
mulberry-leaf becomes satin"

Hither, in half blown garlands drest,
Advances the reluctant Spring,
And shrinking, feels her tender breast
Chill'd by Winter's snowy wing;
Nor wilt thou, alien as thou art, display
Or leaf, or swelling bud, to meet the varying day.

Yet, when the mother of the rose,
Bright June, leads on the glowing hours,
And from her hands luxuriant throws
Her lovely groups of Summer flowers;
Forth from thy brown and unclad branches shoot
Serrated leaves and rudiments of fruit.

And soon those boughs umbrageous spread
A shelter from Autumnal rays,
While gay beneath thy shadowy head,
His gambols happy childhood plays;
Eager, with crimson fingers to amass
Thy ruby fruit, that strews the turfy grass.

But where, festoon'd with purple vines,
More freely grows thy graceful form,
And skreen'd by towering Appenines,
Thy foliage feeds the spinning worm;
PATIENCE and INDUSTRY protect thy shade,
And see, by future looms, their care repaid.

They mark the threads, half viewless wind
That form the shining light cocoon,
Now tinted as the orange rind,
Or paler than the pearly moon;
Then at their summons in the task engage,
Light active youth, and tremulous old age.

The task that bids thy tresses green
A thousand varied hues assume,
There colour'd like the sky serene,
And mocking here the rose's bloom;
And now, in lucid volumes lightly roll'd,
Where purple clouds are starr'd with mimic gold.

But not because thy veined leaves.
Do to the grey winged moth supply
The nutriment, whence Patience weaves
The monarch's velvet canopy;
Thro' his high domes, a splendid radiance throws,
And binds the jewell'd circlet on his brows;

And not, that thus transform'd, thy boughs,
Now as a cestus clasp the fair,
Now in her changeful vestment flows,
And filets now her plaited hair;
I praise thee; but that I behold in thee
The triumph of unwearied Industry.

'Tis, that laborious millions owe
To thee, the source of simple food
In Eastern climes; or where the Po
Reflects thee from his classic flood;
While useless INDOLENCE may blush, to view
What PATIENCE, INDUSTRY, and ART, can do.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net