THY fruit full well the school-boy knows, Wild bramble of the brake! So, put thou forth thy small white rose; I love it for his sake. Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow O'er all the fragrant bowers, Thou need'st not be ashamed to show Thy satin-threaded flowers; For dull the eye, the heart is dull, That cannot feel how fair, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are! How delicate thy gauzy frill! How rich thy branchy stem! How soft thy voice, when woods are still, And thou sing'st hymns to them; While silent showers are falling slow, And, 'mid the general hush, A sweet air lifts the little bough, Lone whispering through the bush! The primrose to the grave is gone; The hawthorn flower is dead; The violet by the moss'd grey stone Hath laid her weary head; But thou, wild bramble! back dost bring, In all their beauteous power, The fresh green days of life's fair spring, And boyhood's blossomy hour. Scorn'd bramble of the brake! once more Thou bid'st me be a boy, To gad with thee the woodlands o'er, In freedom and in joy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO SONNETS: 2 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON AFTER A JOURNEY by THOMAS HARDY IN HOSPITAL: 4. BEFORE by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY ON MILTON'S PARADISE LOST by ANDREW MARVELL TO SENECA LAKE by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL SESTINA: ALTAFORTE by EZRA POUND HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 30 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |