Poems (Howard)/Gratitude

by Hattie Howard

For works with similar titles, see Gratitude.

Gratitude.

O could I dip my barbarous quill
 In fountains of cerulean ink,
And catch the merry, mellow trill
 Of robin red or bobolink,
I'd frame, in tuneful, tinkling phrase,
For him of bounteous works and ways
Who well deserves this meed of praise,
The sweetest of all lyric lays!

If I could call the angels down,
 And from their own bright jewels cull
A star to glisten in his crown—
 With sparkling gems already full—
'T would faintly show my gratitude
To one whose gracious deference stood
As recompense for conduct rude
From grosser natures interviewed.

If I, so notable, could weave
 A shining robe, like silver lawn,
On some ambrosial, amber eve
 I'd beg of him to put it on;
That its enchanting folds might gleam
Before his dazzled eyes, and seem
Symbolical of true esteem
For him of whom I dare to dream.

O could I claim the monarch's right,
 That of creating lords—of men—
With royal favor I 'd requite
 His generosity; and then
Proclaim, as if in trumpet-tone,
That every courtier round the throne
Should do him honor, who hath grown
Into my heart, from kindness shown!