Flower o' the thorn A book of wayside verse: By John Payne |
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RHODODENDRONS. |
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 | Flower o' the thorn |  |
RHODODENDRONS.
THE rhododendrons run along the water's marge,
Sheathing in leafage lush the river's rippled sheen;
Here, where the mellow light of latter May is large,
The heavens' reflected gold they frame in frolic green.
Run, rhododendrons, run!
The sojourn of the sun
Is short and Winter dogs the steps of Summer done.
Sheathing in leafage lush the river's rippled sheen;
Here, where the mellow light of latter May is large,
The heavens' reflected gold they frame in frolic green.
Run, rhododendrons, run!
The sojourn of the sun
Is short and Winter dogs the steps of Summer done.
The rhododendrons burn with blossom-lamps of blue
And red and white; there's scarce a leaf for bloom to spy.
With hosts of frolic flower they hail the season new,
Uplifting faces fair toward the smiling sky.
Bloom, rhododendrons, bloom!
The land on Summer's loom
Is laid and you anon must for the rose make room.
And red and white; there's scarce a leaf for bloom to spy.
With hosts of frolic flower they hail the season new,
Uplifting faces fair toward the smiling sky.
Bloom, rhododendrons, bloom!
The land on Summer's loom
Is laid and you anon must for the rose make room.
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The rhododendrons hang their over-ripened heads:
The ending of their hour of honour is at hand.
See, here and there, a bush its blossom-harvest sheds;
To-morrow, all forlorn and flowerless, they will stand.
Fade, rhododendrons, fade!
The year is like a maid,
That, once her flowertime past, must wither in the shade.
The ending of their hour of honour is at hand.
See, here and there, a bush its blossom-harvest sheds;
To-morrow, all forlorn and flowerless, they will stand.
Fade, rhododendrons, fade!
The year is like a maid,
That, once her flowertime past, must wither in the shade.
| Flower o' the thorn | |