 | Poems (1857) |  |
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THE BETTER WREATH.
I
What mortal plant that growsShould wreathe immortal fame?
The Rose? it darkens ere it blows;
Its glory's but a name!—
Its blush, which meets the Morn's young beams,
Must bear Night's tears ere long;
Find fitter emblem for Fame's dreams,
The poet's soul and song!
II
The Laurel? Shall its sombre leavesFame's lofty brow entwine,
Which living light from heaven receives,
And mirrors thoughts divine!
No! Cast it o'er some dismal wave,
Where human hopes ne'er breathe;
The glorious songs the poet gave
May ask a nobler wreath.
III
The Bay? Oh! still its hues proclaimThe same prophetic mark;
All things that speak of after fame,
Are gloomy, stern, and dark!
288
They blossom and depart!
Their dead leaves lingering o'er the spot
Like memories round the heart.
IV
Away! of human feelings twineThe garland that shall live;
Hopes, thoughts, affections—all divine,
Be these the wreath ye give!
The Heart's the flower that sweetest glows,
And bears the dearest name:
What other mortal thing which grows
Should wreathe immortal fame!
| Poems (1857) | |