I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made <br />Against the bitter East their barricade, <br />And, guided by its sweet <br />Perfume, I found, within a narrow dell, <br />The trailing spring flower tinted like a shell <br />Amid dry leaves and mosses at my feet. <br /> <br />From under dead boughs, for whose loss the pines <br />Moaned ceaseless overhead, the blossoming vines <br />Lifted their glad surprise, <br />While yet the bluebird smoothed in leafless trees <br />His feathers ruffled by the chill sea-breeze, <br />And snow-drifts lingered under April skies. <br /> <br />As, pausing, o'er the lonely flower I bent, <br />I thought of lives thus lowly, clogged and pent, <br />Which yet find room, <br />Through care and cumber, coldness and decay, <br />To lend a sweetness to the ungenial day <br />And make the sad earth happier for their bloom.<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-trailing-arbutus/
