Classic Poem

Verse of my own! why ask so poor a thing,
When I might gather from the garden-ways
Of sunny memory fragrant offering
Of deathless blooms and white unwithering sprays?
Shakespeare had given me an English rose,
And honeysuckle Spenser sweet as dew,
Or I had brought you from that dreamy close
Keats' passion-blossom, or the mystic blue
Star-flower of Shelley's song, or shaken gold
From lilies of the Blessèd Damozel,
Or stolen fire from out the scarlet fold
Of Swinburne's poppies—yet it seemeth well,
Though all this flowery largess waitèd thee,
That you should ask a paltry weed from me!