FRESH with all airs of woodland brooks And scents of showers, Take to your haunt of holy books This saint of flowers. When meadows burn with budding May, And heaven is blue, Before his shrine our prayers we say, -- Saint Robin true. Love crowned with thorns is on his staff, -- Thorns of sweet-briar; His benediction is a laugh, Birds are his choir. His sacred robe of white and red Unction distils; He hath a nimbus round his head Of daffodils. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INSCRIPTIONS: 4 by MARK AKENSIDE THE DIVINITY by MATTHEW ARNOLD A DEFIANCE, RETURNING TO THE PLACE OF HIS PAST AMOURS by PHILIP AYRES DAVIDS ELEGIE UPON JONATHAN by JOSEPH BEAUMONT APRIL by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE BALAUSTION'S ADVENTURE: PART 4 by ROBERT BROWNING IN THE GRASS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON ON THESE LABOURED POEMS OF THE DECEASED AUTHOR, MR. WILLIAM BOSWORTH by L. C. |