Classic Poem

INSCRIBED TO FRIENDS OF OTHER DAYS


In simple words what subtle power!
Hearts-ease, what is it? and O where
To find the true, the mystic flower?
Ask them who on their bosoms wear
The costly blossoms of an hour,
To glow in hope's enchanted air
And wither in the heart's despair;
With tears they say, It is not there

In banquet hight, in bridal bower,
In captive coils of beauty's hair,
By cottage door, or gate and tower,
On altar step, or palace stair,
In field and garden after shower.
In wildwood and the bramble's lair
Where sweetness harbors unaware,
Look for the flower: it is not there

Shy leaf! is thine some Alpine flower
Sole growing where not foot may dare,
Or dost thou in deep forests cower,
Where feet of men might never fare.
Or hide where darker shadows lower
And Lethe's poppies nod and stare,
While sunny banks thy namesake bear,
A name for balm that is not there.