Altho' thy flowers minute, disclose No colours rivalling the rose, And lend no odours to the gale; While dimly thro' the pallid green Of thy long slender leaves, are seen Thy berries pale; Yet for thy virtues art thou known, And not the Anana's burnish'd cone, Or golden fruits that bless the earth Of Indian climes, however fair, Can with thy modest boughs compare, For genuine worth. Man, from his early Eden driven, Receiv'd thee from relenting Heaven, And thou the whelming surge above, Symbol of pardon, deign'd to rear Alone thy willowy head, to cheer The wandering dove. Tho' no green whispering shade is thine, Where peasant girls at noon recline, Or, while the village tabor plays, Gay vine-dressers, and goatherds, meet To dance with light unwearied feet On holidays; Yet doth the fruit thy sprays produce, Supply what ardent Suns refuse, Nor want of grassy lawn or mead, To pasture milky herds, is found While fertile Olive groves surround The lone Bastide. Thou stillest the wild and troubled waves, And as the human tempest raves When Wisdom bids the tumult cease; Thee, round her calm majestic brows She binds; and waves thy sacred boughs, Emblems of Peace! Ah! then, tho' thy wan blossoms bear No odours for the vagrant air, Yet genuine worth belongs to thee; And Peace and Wisdom, powers divine, Shall plant thee round the holy shrine Of Liberty! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ANOTHER SONG WITHOUT WORDS by PAUL VERLAINE TO COLE, THE PAINTER, DEPARTING FOR EUROPE by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT YESTERDAY AND TOMORROW by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR LESSER EPISTLES: TO A LADY ON HER PASSION FOR OLD CHINA by JOHN GAY |