Poems by T. Westwood |
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[Wild flowers, that in the wood's deep solitudes] |
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[Wild flowers, that in the wood's deep solitudes]
“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.”
Grey,
Wild flowers, that in the wood's deep solitudes,
And on the far, untrodden mountain tops,
Blossom unseen, to Contemplation's ken,
Most favour'd do ye seem, though human eye
May never gaze upon your loveliness,
Nor human sense inhale your odorous breath.
Ye are as things apart, enshrin'd, devoted,
To a most pure, though lowly destiny;
The glorious hues, which God hath given, ye keep,
Nature's own vestals, stainless till ye die,
And the rich summer scents, your native dower,
Ascend in grateful incense unto heaven.
Wild flowers, thrice happy would it be if they,
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In the world's solitudes, could thus preserve
Their innocence unstain'd, thus offer up,
Love, hope, praise, all life's fragrance, unto heaven.
| Poems | |