A Celebration of Women Writers

"To the Myrtle." by Mary Darby Robinson (1758-1800)
From: Robinson, Mrs. M. Poems. London: J. Bell, 1791. pp. 135-136.

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[Page 135]

TO

THE MYRTLE.

UNFADING branch of verdant hue,
  In modest sweetness drest,
Shake off thy pearly tears of dew,
  And decorate my breast.

Dear emblem of the constant mind,
  Truth's consecrated tree,
Still shall thy trembling blossoms find
  A faithful friend in me.

Nor chilling breeze, nor drizzling rain
  Thy glossy leaves can spoil,
Their sober beauties fresh remain
  In every varying soil.

If e'er this aching heart of mine
  A wand'ring thought should prove;
O, let thy branches round it twine,
  And bind it fast to Love.

For ah ! the little fluttering thing,
  Amidst LIFE'S tempest rude;
Has felt Affliction's sharpest sting,
  YET TRIUMPHS UNSUBDUED.

[Page 136]

Like THEE it braves the wintry wind,
  And mocks the storm's fierce pow'r,
Tho' from its HOPES the blast unkind,
  Has torn each promis'd flow'r.

Tho' round its fibres barb'rous fate
  Has twin'd an icy spell;
Still in its central fires elate,
  The purest passions dwell.

When LIFE'S disast'rous scene is fled,
  This humble boon I crave;
Oh! bind your branches round my head,
  AND BLOSSOM ON MY GRAVE.

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