 | [The sprig of wintergreen, in] The wintergreen, a perennial gift for 1844 |  |
247
THE SPRIG OF WINTERGREEN.
It grew not in the golden clime
Where painted birds, in bowers as gay,
Their notes on Tropic breezes chime,
While Nature keeps her holiday!
'Neath northern stars its leaflets first
Expanded to the wooing air,
And, in the lonely wild-wood nurst,
It learn'd the northern blast to bear.
Where painted birds, in bowers as gay,
Their notes on Tropic breezes chime,
While Nature keeps her holiday!
'Neath northern stars its leaflets first
Expanded to the wooing air,
And, in the lonely wild-wood nurst,
It learn'd the northern blast to bear.
Transplanted from its simple home—
By rocky dell or wind-swept hill—
Like birds in stranger climes that roam,
And keep their native wood-notes still—
Still in its glossy verdure dressed,
It blooms, unchanged with change of scene,
An emblem on its wearer's breast
Of Truth and Purity within.
By rocky dell or wind-swept hill—
Like birds in stranger climes that roam,
And keep their native wood-notes still—
Still in its glossy verdure dressed,
It blooms, unchanged with change of scene,
An emblem on its wearer's breast
Of Truth and Purity within.
| [The sprig of wintergreen, in] The wintergreen, a perennial gift for 1844 | |