EDITH! I brought thee late a humble gift, The songs of earlier youth; it was a wreath With many an unripe blossom garlanded And many a weed, yet mingled with some flowers That will not wither. Now, my love, I bring A worthier offering; thou wilt value it, For well thou knowest it is a work that sooth'd Times of hard care and strange inquietude, With most sweet solace: and though to mine ear There is no music in the hollowness Of common praise, yet I am well content To think that I have past in such employ The green and vigorous season of my mind, And hope that there are those in whom the song Has woke some not unprofitable thoughts. ROBERT SOUTHEY. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A BLUEBELL by EMILY JANE BRONTE APOLOGIA PRO VITA SUA by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE ARABELLA STUART by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 26 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH SERVICE by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH KING PHILIP'S MEN by AUDREY ALEXANDRA BROWN EPIGRAM ON A ROPE-MAKER HANGED by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |