Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Winter's Wreath, 1832/Books and Flowers
BOOKS AND FLOWERS.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
"La vue d'un fleur caresse mon imagination, et flatte mes sens a un point inexprimable. Sons le tranquille abri du toil paternel, j'etois nourrie des l'infance avec des fleurs et des livres;—dans l'etroite enceinte d'une prison, au millieu des fers imposes par la tyrannie, j'oublie l'injustice des hommes, leurs sottises et mes maux, avec des livres et des fleurs."
Madame Roland.
Come, let me make a sunny realm around thee,
Of thought and beauty! Here are books and flowers,
With spells to loose the fetter which hath bound thee,
The ravelled coil of this world's feverish hours.
The soul of song is in these deathless pages,
Even as the odour in the flower enshrined;
Here the crowned spirits of departed ages,
Have left the silent melodies of mind.
Their thoughts, that strove with time, and change, and anguish,
For some high place where Faith her wing might rest,
Are burning here;—a flame that may not languish,
Still pointing upward to that bright Hill's crest!
Their grief, the veiled infinity exploring
For treasures lost, is here;—their boundless love,
Its mighty streams of gentleness outpouring
On all things round, and clasping all above.
And the bright beings, their own hearts' creations,
Bright, yet all human, here are breathing still;
Conflicts, and agonies, and exultations,
Are here, and victories of prevailing will!
Listen, oh, listen! Let their high words cheer thee!
Their swan-like music, ringing through all woes!
Let my voice bring their holy influence near thee,
The Elysian air of their divine repose!
Oh, wouldst thou turn to earth! Not earth, all furrowed
By the old traces of man's toil and care,
But the green youthful world, that never sorrowed,
The world of leaves, and dews, and summer air.
Look on these flowers! As o'er an altar, shedding
O'er Milton's page, soft light from coloured urns!
They are the links, man's heart to nature wedding,
When to her breast the prodigal returns.
They are from lone wild places, forest-dingles,
Fresh banks of many a low-voiced hidden stream,
Where the sweet star of eve looks down, and mingles
Faint lustre with the water-lily's gleam.
They are from where the soft winds play in gladness,
Covering the turf with pearly blossom-showers;—
—Too richly dowered, O friend! are we for sadness,
Look on an Empire—Mind and Nature—ours!"