Classic Poem

Let Burns and old Chaucer unite
The praise of the Daisy to sing,—
Let Wordsworth of Celandine write,
And crown her the Queen of the Spring;
The Hyacinth's classical fame
Let Milton embalm in his verse;
Be mine the glad task to proclaim
The Charms of untrumpeted Furze!

Of all other bloom when bereft,
And Sol wears his wintery screen,
Thy sunshining blossoms are left
To light up the common and green
O why should they envy the peer
His perfume of spices and myrrhs,
When the poorest their senses may cheer
With incense diffused from the Furze?

It is bristled with thorns, I confess;
But so is the much-flatter'd Rose:
Is the Sweetbriar lauded the less
Because amid prickles it grows?
'Twere to cut off an epigram's point,
Or disfurnish a knight of his spurs,
If we foolishly wish'd to disjoint
Its arms from the lance-bearing Furze.

Ye dabblers in mines, who would clutch
The wealth which their bowels enfold;
See! Nature, with Midas-like touch,
Here turns a whole common to gold;
No niggard is she to the poor,
But distributes whatever is hers,
And the wayfaring beggar is sure
Of a tribute of gold from the Furze.

Ye worldlings! learn hence to divide
Your wealth with the children of want,
Nor scorn, in your fortune and pride,
To be taught by the commonest plant.
If the wisest new wisdom may draw
From things humble, as reason avers,
We too may receive Heaven's law,
And beneficence learn from the Furze!