As holly tells of feudal days, Of yuletide feasts and laughter, So thou, the pride of Oregon, Shall trail thy glories after. When woodland flowers are all asleep And hazel wands are bare, You reign like some primeval chief Who oft has tented there. Your leaves are laundered by the rain, And glossed by winter's wing To garnish festive hall and home, And the temples of our King. Hast holly sharper spines than thou? Her leaves a richer hue? If she should boast of berries red, Boast thou of berries blue. And if perchance, from prestige proud, She does not grant your greatness, Then take this arrow and atone For any charge of lateness: "O'er every sea the healed have sung The virtues of my root— Can English Mary's famous tree Make bitters from its foot?" Let holly reign in Britain's land And Scotland sing of heather; For us, the grape of Oregon Has both their charms together. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFFIRMATION by LOUIS UNTERMEYER NEEDLE THREADER IN NEED OF A NEEDLE by DARA WIER JEALOUSY by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE IN THE NEOLITHIC AGE by RUDYARD KIPLING OF A CONTENTED MIND [OR, SPIRIT] by THOMAS VAUX PRIAPUS AND THE POOL: 4 by CONRAD AIKEN |