ANE plante there is of the deidliest pouir Quhilk flourischis deeply in the hert; Its lang rutis creip and fald outoure Ilka vive and breathen part: Lustilie bourgenis the weid anon Till hert hath rottit and lyf hath flown. Blak is the sap of its baleful stem, Lyk funeral blicht its leavis do fal; In its moisture is quenchit luve's pure flame, It drappis rust on inmost saul: Lustilie bourgenis the weid anon, Till hert hath rottit and lyf hath flown. Evir it flourischis meikel and hie, Nae stay, nae hindraunce will it bruik; In ae nicht sprynging up, a burdlie tree, Schedding its bale at ae single luik: Lustilie bourgenis the weid anon, Till hert hath rottit and lyf hath flown. It canna be kythit to the gudely sun, It pynyth sae at his nobil sicht; It shrinkyth quyte like a thing undone Quhan luikit on by the blessit licht: In hert whence heevinlie luve hath gone Thilke evil weid aye bourgenis on. Fell Envie's th' plant of mortal pouir Quhilk flourischis grenelye in the hert -- Raining the slawe and poisonous shouir Quhilk cankereth the vertuous part: Black Envie wherever its seed is sawin, Fashion is a hert like the foul Fiend's awin! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SOLOMON TO SHEBA by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EDITOR WHEDON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A WISH by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SISTER HELEN by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI AGAMEMNON: THE BEACONS by AESCHYLUS THE PEN by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM PROLOGUE TO THE PLAY OF HENRY THE EIGHTH by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |