  Spring saw my little venture just begun; And then your hospitable message came, Inviting me to taste the strawberries At Strawberry Hill. I went. How long I stayed, Urged by dear friends and the restoring breeze, Let me not say; long enough to complete My rhythmic structure; day by day it grew, And all sweet influences helped its growth. The lawn sloped green and ample till the trees Met on its margin; and the Hudson's tide Rolled beautiful beyond, where purple gleams Fell on the Palisades or touched the hills Of the opposing shore; for all without Was but an emblem of the symmetry I found within, where love held perfect sway, With taste and beauty and domestic peace For its allies. Since all who see it know it is the rose; And so, dear lady, praise of thee would seem, To all who know thee, quite superfluous. But if from any of these thoughts be shed Aught of the fragrance and the hue of truth, To thee I dedicate the transient flower In which the eternal beauty reappears; Knowing, should poison mingle with the sweet, Thou, like the eclectic bee, with instinct sure, Wilt take the good alone, and leave the bad. E. S. |
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