Poems (Gould, 1833)/The Anemone

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THE ANEMONE.
Thy charm, pale, modest, timid one,Is this, that thou dost ever shunThe public walk, and to the sun Dost show an open heart,Which does not fear the brightest ray,That's darted from the eye of day,Will aught of secret stain betray, Or find a double part.
And thou hast never been beguiledTo quit the simple, quiet wild,Where nature placed her modest child To worship her alone.Thou dost not ask the brow of toilTo shed its costly dew, to spoilThe bed of free, untortured soil, Which thou hast made thine own.
And now, if I were hence to takeThee, root and stem, it would but makeThee homesick—and the spell would break, That's round the desert gem.So, I will set me down and lookOn thy fair leaves, my little book,To read the name of Him, who took Such care in forming them!
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