The Poetry of Real Life A New Edition, Much Enlarged and Improved. By Henry Ellison |
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WRITTEN AFTER BUYING SOME FLOWERS IN LONDON. |
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 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
WRITTEN AFTER BUYING SOME FLOWERS IN LONDON.
Oh Nature, how, how richly do'st thou pay
Us back again for all our love can do
To thee or thine! the feeling of the True,
The Beautiful, and not for one brief day,
(For what we take to heart we keep for aye)
Thou giv'st me for this fleeting dross of earth:
Things beyond all, for what is of no, worth!
How many gifts before me do'st thou lay
With this one flower! Amalthæa's horn,
With all its sweets, thou emptiest at my feet!
List! 'tis the lark, that, as it were, in scorn
Of darkling earth, sings to the star of morn,
While, like the drops that cool ripe Summer's heat,
'Mid the green leaves, his notes fall fresh and sweet!
Us back again for all our love can do
To thee or thine! the feeling of the True,
The Beautiful, and not for one brief day,
(For what we take to heart we keep for aye)
Thou giv'st me for this fleeting dross of earth:
Things beyond all, for what is of no, worth!
How many gifts before me do'st thou lay
With this one flower! Amalthæa's horn,
With all its sweets, thou emptiest at my feet!
List! 'tis the lark, that, as it were, in scorn
Of darkling earth, sings to the star of morn,
While, like the drops that cool ripe Summer's heat,
'Mid the green leaves, his notes fall fresh and sweet!
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All, all are there! the sweet-breath'd violet,
Which, near the ground, grows lowly, and which we
Mast stoop to pluck, like Life's best sweets, that be
Oftener beneath, than up above, us set!
Primrose and bell, in rival beauty met,
With every bud that keeps them company.
Oh charmëd flower! that, like a master-key,
Canst open all the wards of Memory,
And thro' their doors, as Fancy beckons, let
Us forth into the green fields and fresh air!
How little perfect love requires! how small
A thing suffices to the heart to call,
In living beauty, all that once did share
Its love, however long the interval!
Which, near the ground, grows lowly, and which we
Mast stoop to pluck, like Life's best sweets, that be
Oftener beneath, than up above, us set!
Primrose and bell, in rival beauty met,
With every bud that keeps them company.
Oh charmëd flower! that, like a master-key,
Canst open all the wards of Memory,
And thro' their doors, as Fancy beckons, let
Us forth into the green fields and fresh air!
How little perfect love requires! how small
A thing suffices to the heart to call,
In living beauty, all that once did share
Its love, however long the interval!
Oh Nature, thou hast many a secret door
Unto the heart! the blessing, which at birth,
Thou gav'st us, fails not, but gains still new worth,
Still yielding, as we more deserve it, more;
Thou best Godmother! not like those of earth,
For thou fulfill'st thy compact, watchëst o'er
Thy child, and on his chosen head do'st shower
Thy wondrous gifts, with love that knows no dearth;
And of them these, the best—Wisdom with Mirth,
And Love, still as the highest form of power!
Thus to my heart this one, one little flower,
Can bring back all thy blessedness and peace:
For in it that first blessing doth not cease
To work: the love of thee, thy best birth-dower!
Unto the heart! the blessing, which at birth,
Thou gav'st us, fails not, but gains still new worth,
Still yielding, as we more deserve it, more;
Thou best Godmother! not like those of earth,
For thou fulfill'st thy compact, watchëst o'er
Thy child, and on his chosen head do'st shower
Thy wondrous gifts, with love that knows no dearth;
And of them these, the best—Wisdom with Mirth,
And Love, still as the highest form of power!
Thus to my heart this one, one little flower,
Can bring back all thy blessedness and peace:
For in it that first blessing doth not cease
To work: the love of thee, thy best birth-dower!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |