THOUGH Nature's lonesome, leafless bowers, With winter's awful snows are white, The tender smell of leaves and flowers Makes May-time in my room to-night: While some, in homeless poverty, Shrink moaning from the bitter blast; What am I, that my lines should be In good and pleasant places cast? When other souls despairing stand, And plead with famished lips to-day, Why is it that a loving hand Should scatter blossoms in my way? O flowers, with soft and dewy eyes, To God my gratitude reveal; Send up your incense to the skies, And utter, for me, what I feel! O innocent roses, in your buds Hiding for very modesty; O violets, smelling of the woods, Thank Him, with all your sweets for me! And tell him, I would give this hour All that is mine of good beside, To have the pure heart of a flower, That has no stain of sin to hide. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: ARCHIBALD LOWELL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PRISONED IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED by HENRY HOWARD THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW (SEPTEMBER 25, 1857) by ROBERT TRAILL SPENCE LOWELL PSALM 15 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE MOTHER -- 1927 MODEL by BERTON BRALEY THE DREAMING MAN by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |