SEE how this violet, which before Hung sullenly her drooping head, As angry at the ground that bore The purple treasure which she spread, Doth smilingly erected grow, Transplanted to those hills of snow. And whilst the pillows of thy breast Do her reclining head sustain, She swells with pride to be so blest, And doth all other flowers disdain; Yet weeps that dew which kissed her last, To see her odours so surpass'd. Poor flower! how far deceiv'd thou wert, To think the riches of the morn, Or all the sweets she can impart, Could these or sweeten or adorn, Since thou from them dost borrow scent, And they to thee lend ornament! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT A CHRISTMAS HYMN (OLD STYLE: 1837) by ALFRED DOMETT ROSE D'AMOUR by MATHILDE BLIND PROTEUS by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN THE LITTLE GHOST by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS SONGS IN ABSENCE: 9. OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH ON JOHN DUKE OF BRIDGEWATER, WHO DIED IN THE TWENTY-FIRST YEAR OF AGE by NATHANIEL COTTON |