 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
THE THISTLE FLOWER.
My homely flower that blooms along
The dry and dusty ways,
I have a mind to make a song,
And make it in thy praise;
For thou art favored of my heart,
Humble and outcast as thou art.
The dry and dusty ways,
I have a mind to make a song,
And make it in thy praise;
For thou art favored of my heart,
Humble and outcast as thou art.
Though never with the plants of grace
In garden borders set,
Full often have I seen thy face
With tender tear-drops wet,
And seen thy gray and ragged sleeves
All wringing with them, morns and eves.
In garden borders set,
Full often have I seen thy face
With tender tear-drops wet,
And seen thy gray and ragged sleeves
All wringing with them, morns and eves.
Albeit thou livest in a bush
Of such unsightly form,
Thou hast not any need to blush—
Thou hast thine own sweet charm;
And for that charm I love thee so,
And not for any outward show.
Of such unsightly form,
Thou hast not any need to blush—
Thou hast thine own sweet charm;
And for that charm I love thee so,
And not for any outward show.
The iron-weed, so straight and fine,
Above thy head may rise,
And all in glossy purple shine;
But to my partial eyes
It cannot harm thee—thou hast still
A place no finer flower can fill.
Above thy head may rise,
And all in glossy purple shine;
But to my partial eyes
It cannot harm thee—thou hast still
A place no finer flower can fill.
The fennel, she is courted at
The porch-side and the door—
Thou hast no lovers, and for that
I love thee all the more;
Only the wind and rain to be
Thy friends, and keep thee company.
The porch-side and the door—
Thou hast no lovers, and for that
I love thee all the more;
Only the wind and rain to be
Thy friends, and keep thee company.
So, being left to take thine ease
Behind thy thorny wall,
Thy little head with vanities
Has not been turned at all,
And all field beauties give me grace
To praise thee to thy very face.
Behind thy thorny wall,
Thy little head with vanities
Has not been turned at all,
And all field beauties give me grace
To praise thee to thy very face.
So, thou shalt evermore belong
To me from this sweet hour,
And I will take thee for my song,
And take thee for my flower,
And by the great, and proud, and high
Unenvied, we will live and die.
To me from this sweet hour,
And I will take thee for my song,
And take thee for my flower,
And by the great, and proud, and high
Unenvied, we will live and die.
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |