THE WREATH.
A WREATH of flow’rets for a maiden’s brow,
The earliest daughters of the budding spring!
Such would I twine, and place them there to blow,
And gaze upon them and their beauties sing.
First then I seek the willowy bank, and frame
A circlet rich with flowers of golden hue,
Rich too with emblems and a meaning name—
O may the end approve its meaning true!
The palm-branch is the prize of victory—
O that these palms may prove prophetic now!
Life is a contest, and its end must be
Shame, or a deathless crown upon the brow.
Lo! here and there fresh daisies spangle o’er
The grassy mead, my watchful eye beneath;
All hail, fair flow’rets! come, increase the store,
That I am gathering for the maiden’s wreath!
Oft doth the scythe upon its ruthless way
Behead the daisy flowers upon the green,
Yet the true-hearted root is constant aye,
New flowers producing where the first have been.
