 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
TO A WILD PANSY.
Lone flower of many names, the wind sweeps o'er thee,
Knowing thee not: tumultuous, vain, and wild,
The mountain-torrent sounds and shines before thee;
Yet droop not, little flower, for she who bore thee,
The great Earth, careth for thee,
And from her bosom mild
Delights to feed thee like a newborn child.
Knowing thee not: tumultuous, vain, and wild,
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Yet droop not, little flower, for she who bore thee,
The great Earth, careth for thee,
And from her bosom mild
Delights to feed thee like a newborn child.
Flower on the Past's dark brow! I gaze upon thee
Till my dim eyes are vacant as thine own:
With labour I have sought, yet now I shun thee:
Flower of sad Thought! thou art not mine alone;—
Thou from my eyes art gone;
And long-forgotten voices swell the strain
Of that loud mountain-stream whose clamour stuns my brain!
Till my dim eyes are vacant as thine own:
With labour I have sought, yet now I shun thee:
Flower of sad Thought! thou art not mine alone;—
Thou from my eyes art gone;
And long-forgotten voices swell the strain
Of that loud mountain-stream whose clamour stuns my brain!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |