31.12.2010, 19:01
THE WILLOW,
Or, the Rose-prop.
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 inme 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 !
Or, the Rose-prop.
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 inme 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 !