Friday, July 15, 2011

The Wild Honeysuckle

FAIR flower, that dost so comely grow,
Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched thy honied blossoms blow,
Unseen thy little branches greet:
No roving foot shall crush thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear.

By Nature’s self in white arrayed,
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by;
Thus quietly thy summer goes,
Thy days declining to repose.

Smit with those charms, that must decay,
I grieve to see your future doom;
They died--nor were those flowers more gay,
The flowers that did in Eden bloom;
Unpitying frosts and Autumn’s power
Shall leave no vestige of this flower.

From morning suns and evening dews
At first thy little being came;
If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same;
The space between is but an hour,
The frail duration of a flower.

--Philip Freneau (1752-1832)

5 comments:

Always On Watch said...

My property is tormented by honeysuckle, wisteria, and morning glory.

-FJ said...

Sounds like it needs some busy hand to provoke some tears.... of joy? ;)

Z said...

I love that and had never heard of it or the poet...how very beautiful, very simple and sweet.
Not to sound like a fanatic, but I see a lot of Christianity in this, FJ....."for when you die you are the same.." much to think about.

I wrote a poem once I should share with you ...about camelias and how one finds them on the ground unready to fall...just lying there in full bloom so often, browning on the ground before their time. Geepers, I found it! Will wonders never cease? I see it needs a focus and it's scum but there it is......see how much I trust you that I'd put it here? Yikes!


I will never like camelias,
ordinary flowers grown in clumps
'round stucco houses and
church school playgrounds.
Flowers of my childhood,
pink, white, red,
the same, but for the color,
around our home of
small neighborhood and similar mind.
Memories of friends who teased and taunted,
feeling hurt and sibling scalded,
like I don't belong.
Camelias lose their attachment,
fall, not yet faded,
alive, still red,
but disconnected

-FJ said...

Must be a male flower. ;)

Very thoughtful poem. Can I use it in a post?

-FJ said...

Oh, why male? ;)