Classic Poem

I know a Tulledegan flower rare
That lifts between the rocks a blushing face,
And doth with every wind its sweetness share
That bloweth over its wild dwelling-place.
It gathers beauty where the storms are rough
And clings devoted to the rugged bluff.

Far 'bove its sisters in the vale below,
It swings its censor like a ruby star,
And thither all the days of summer go
The mountain bees—fierce knights of love and war—
To seal in noontide hour—O hour of bliss!—
Each tender vow of true love with a kiss.

And often, like a beauteous blossom blown
By careless winds o'er heaven's opal floor,
The Butterfly entreats it, “Be my own”;
And never would in valleys wander more,
Content to hang for aye enchanted there
Beside the frowning summit bleak and bare.

“Come sit with me in my green cedar tent,
Bright Flower,” said Tulledega long ago,
Whilst leaning o'er his lofty battlement,
And wooed the flower from the vale below.
In vain the Oktahutchee pleaded, “Stay:
Abide here by my mossy brink alway,”

And flashed on thro' the folded hills. “Abide,”
The Valley said, “Upon my verdant breast.”
“‘Tis bleak and cold up there,” the Thrushes cried.
“Nay, nay, I love the Tulledega best,”
Replied the lovely Flower as it went
High up the Mountain's rugged battlement.

“Alas!” the River sighed, and cast a tear
Upon a slender reed; while overhead
A passing cloud cast down a shadow drear
Upon the valley green in sunshine spread;
And softly sweet from every feathered throat
To music set, escaped a plaintive note.

A chilling breeze came o'er the forest trees,
And all the leafy branches shook with cold;
Stechupco blew such tender melodies
As Pan blew from his oaten lute of old,
On fair Arcadia's sunny slopes, when Echo
Loved the youth Narcissus to her sorrow.

Abide, O lovely Flower, in your home
Of pine and cedar on the mountain height;
To come and go, as I have come and gone
So often before,—let that be my delight.
'Tis May, and winds that blow from where you are,
Tell me you hang now like a ruby star.

I know a Tulledegan flower rare
That lifts between the rocks a blushing face,
And doth with every wind its sweetness share
That bloweth over its wild dwelling-place.
It gathers beauty where the storms are rough
And clings devoted to the rugged bluff.

Far 'bove its sisters in the vale below,
It swings its censor like a ruby star,
And thither all the days of summer go
The mountain bees—fierce knights of love and war—
To seal in noontide hour—O hour of bliss!—
Each tender vow of true love with a kiss.

And often, like a beauteous blossom blown
By careless winds o'er heaven's opal floor,
The Butterfly entreats it, “Be my own”;
And never would in valleys wander more,
Content to hang for aye enchanted there
Beside the frowning summit bleak and bare.

“Come sit with me in my green cedar tent,
Bright Flower,” said Tulledega long ago,
Whilst leaning o'er his lofty battlement,
And wooed the flower from the vale below.
In vain the Oktahutchee pleaded, “Stay:
Abide here by my mossy brink alway,”

And flashed on thro' the folded hills. “Abide,”
The Valley said, “Upon my verdant breast.”
“'Tis bleak and cold up there,” the Thrushes cried.
“Nay, nay, I love the Tulledega best,”
Replied the lovely Flower as it went
High up the Mountain's rugged battlement.

“Alas!” the River sighed, and cast a tear
Upon a slender reed; while overhead
A passing cloud cast down a shadow drear
Upon the valley green in sunshine spread;
And softly sweet from every feathered throat
To music set, escaped a plaintive note.

A chilling breeze came o'er the forest trees,
And all the leafy branches shook with cold;
Stechupco blew such tender melodies
As Pan blew from his oaten lute of old,
On fair Arcadia's sunny slopes, when Echo
Loved the youth Narcissus to her sorrow.

Abide, O lovely Flower, in your home
Of pine and cedar on the mountain height;
To come and go, as I have come and gone
So often before,—let that be my delight.
'Tis May, and winds that blow from where you are,
Tell me you hang now like a ruby star.