How shall I hew thee down, thou mighty bower? My summer-tent, my waving canopy? I love too well thy lithe submissive power, Thy silver beauty is too dear to me; At first, thou wert a little rose's prop, A new-cut willow wand, that did'st o'erbear Thy tiny nursling-plant; we took no care To check thee, nor thy lavish growth to lop, For thou art fair as any flower that blows; But though thou art so pleasant to mine eye, Methinks, each child of earth some sorrow knows, Akin to ours; long since that infant rose Droop'd ere its time, and bow'd its head to die, While thou hast soar'd aloft, to toss and sigh! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: MRS. MURRAY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE RHODORA: ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER? by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE MATCH by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN ALL WHITE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT MAY EVENING by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT TRUCE IN LOVE ENTREATED by THOMAS CAREW |