58
Poems
TO THE POET
If I could reach above the clouds at even
And pluck the stars that gem the arch of heaven,
I'd weave a garland of those twinkling flowers,
To deck the brows that hold poetic powers.
But no! I must stoop low to earth for these,
The very simplest little flowers, the breeze
Will kiss in passing, bear their perfume by,
To mingle with the lark's song in the sky.
But still this humble offering I bring
The poet who is greater than a king.
And pluck the stars that gem the arch of heaven,
I'd weave a garland of those twinkling flowers,
To deck the brows that hold poetic powers.
But no! I must stoop low to earth for these,
The very simplest little flowers, the breeze
Will kiss in passing, bear their perfume by,
To mingle with the lark's song in the sky.
But still this humble offering I bring
The poet who is greater than a king.
He who in fancy roamed the world of flowers
And dreamed his dreams in the enchanted bowers
Of fairy lore, and tender old romance,
Will view, I know, with kindly loving glance,
Each petal's tint, so delicately rare,
That but a God's smile could have made so fair,
No royal flower of beauty offer I,—
The rose blooms not within my reach, nor shy,
Sweet violet that is famed in song;
And dreamed his dreams in the enchanted bowers
Of fairy lore, and tender old romance,
Will view, I know, with kindly loving glance,
Each petal's tint, so delicately rare,
That but a God's smile could have made so fair,
No royal flower of beauty offer I,—
The rose blooms not within my reach, nor shy,
Sweet violet that is famed in song;
