 | The Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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SONNET TO THE LAUREL
Approaching thee, thou growth of mystic spell,
That wast of old a virgin fair and wise,
I fix upon thee my devoted eyes
And stand a little while immovable.
Then if in the low breeze thy branches quail—
“What, so afraid?” I say; “not I, poor tree,
Apollo; though my heart hath cherish'd thee
Because thou crown'st his children's foreheads well.”
Then half-incensed, abasing mine own brow—
“These leaves,” I muse, “how many crave—with these
How few at length the flattering gods endow!
I hoped—ah! shall I hope again? Nay, cease.
Too much, alas! the world's rude clamours now
Bewilder mine accorded cadences.”
| The Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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