 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
The Desert
Oh, bid the desert blossom as the rose,For there is not one flower that meets me now;
On all thy fields lie heaped the wintry snows,
And the rough ice encrusts the fruitful bough;
Oh, breathe upon thy ruined vineyard still,
Though like the dead it long unmoved has lain;
Thy breath can with the bloom of Eden fill,
The lifeless clods in verdure clothe again;
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To the new sun and spirit's quickening rain;
They come to bid the furrows heave in birth,
And strew with roses thick the barren plain;
Awake, be early in your untilled field,
And it to you the crop of peace shall yield.
Poem No. 380; late 1838–early 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |