Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/To the Witch Hazel
To the Witch Hazel.
Mysterious plant! whose golden tresses wave
With a sad beauty in the dying year.
Blooming amid November's frost severe,
Like the pale corpse-light o'er the recent grave!
If shepherds tell us true, thy wood has power,
With gracious influence, to avert the harm
Of ominous planets, and the fatal charm
Of spirits wandering at the midnight hour;
And thou canst point where buried treasures lie.
But yet to me thou art an emblem high
Of patient virtue, to the Christian given,
Unchanged and bright, when all is dark beside;
Our shield from wild temptations, and our guide
To treasures for the just laid up in heaven.
With a sad beauty in the dying year.
Blooming amid November's frost severe,
Like the pale corpse-light o'er the recent grave!
If shepherds tell us true, thy wood has power,
With gracious influence, to avert the harm
Of ominous planets, and the fatal charm
Of spirits wandering at the midnight hour;
And thou canst point where buried treasures lie.
But yet to me thou art an emblem high
Of patient virtue, to the Christian given,
Unchanged and bright, when all is dark beside;
Our shield from wild temptations, and our guide
To treasures for the just laid up in heaven.