Sweet-Brier

TENDER of words should singer be,
Sweet-Brier, who would tell of thee ;
One who has drunk with eager lip
And treasured thy companionship ;

One who has sought thee far and wide,
In early dew, with morning pride ;
To whom thou art no new-made friend,
Whose memories on thy breath attend.

For such thou art a lemon-grove,
Where wandering orient odors rove, —
Yet loyal ever to thy home,
The valley where the north winds roam.

Sometimes I would call thee mine;
But sweeter far than mine or thine
To listen unto Nature’s song,
Saying, To lovers all belong.

I love thee for my greenest days
Rescued from Time at thy sweet gaze,
For pictures brilliant as the Spring
Brought back upon thy breathing wing.

I love thee for thy influence,
Heart-honey, without impotence;
He who would reach thy virgin blush,
Like warrior bold, must dangers crush.

Chiefly I love thee for thyself,
Wealth-giver, ignorant of pelf;
Fain would I learn thy upright ways
And heart thus redolent of praise.