Classic Poem

If here the imaginative Greek had lived,
And seen thy lively green, through the dead grass
And leafless shrubs threading its devious way;
He might have fancied thee, fair Color's self,
And called thee Evergreen! And fabled thus.
That, when the winter's cold had killed the grass,
And robbed the forest of its emerald hue;
Thou didst escape; and, hiding in the swamp,
Wast there transformed into this beauteous vine;
Which still preserves, unchanged, the summer's green,
When it has vanished from the hill and plain.