 | Poems descriptive, dramatic, legendary and contemplative |  |
11
[2.] FLOWERS AND TREES.
March is profuse in violets—at our feetThey cluster,—not in pride, but modesty;
The damsel pauses as she passes by,
Plucks them with smiles, and calls them very sweet.
But such beguile me not! The trees are mine,
These hoary-headed masters;—and I glide,
Humbled, beneath their unpresuming pride,
And wist not much what blossoms bud or shine.
I better love to see yon grandsire oak,
Old Druid-patriarch, lone among his race,—
With blessing, out-stretch'd arms, as giving grace
When solemn rites are said, or bread is broke:
Decay is at his roots,—the storm has been
Among his limbs,—but the old top is green.
| Poems descriptive, dramatic, legendary and contemplative | |