 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
184
ROSEMARY
O rosemary, strong rosemary,
That bloomest when the sleet flies free,
And winds are wailing drearily!
That bloomest when the sleet flies free,
And winds are wailing drearily!
Thy stunted leaves are splashed with grey,
Like weeds that feel the salt sea spray,
Or hoar frost on a bitter day;
Like weeds that feel the salt sea spray,
Or hoar frost on a bitter day;
Thy rugged branch obscurely grows,
Thy patient bud unnoticed blows,
More faithful than the expected rose:
Thy patient bud unnoticed blows,
More faithful than the expected rose:
O rosemary, sad rosemary,
O herb of sharpest memory,
Of penitence and purity,
O herb of sharpest memory,
Of penitence and purity,
With thee they strew the untimely dead;
Below the pale world-weary head
Thy pure and patient leaves are spread.
Below the pale world-weary head
Thy pure and patient leaves are spread.
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Thy serious scent, thy pungent spray,
Can penetrate and wave away
The sickliest threatenings of decay.
Can penetrate and wave away
The sickliest threatenings of decay.
O rosemary, shy rosemary,
O bitter sweet philosophy,
That blooms when hope and honour die;—
O bitter sweet philosophy,
That blooms when hope and honour die;—
Ere love and faith grow obsolete,
Before the blackness yawn complete,
Breathe thro' me, melancholy, sweet,
Before the blackness yawn complete,
Breathe thro' me, melancholy, sweet,
The will to guess what most abides,
The hope that draws the silent tides
To fulness, and the star that guides.
The hope that draws the silent tides
To fulness, and the star that guides.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |