ON HIS BRINGING ME FLOWERS FROM VAUCLUSE, AND <br />WHICH HE HAD PRESERVED BY MEANS OF <br />AN INGENIOUS PROCESS IN THEIR <br />ORIGINAL BEAUTY. <br /> <br /> <br />SWEET spoils of consecrated bowers, <br />How dear to me these chosen flowers! <br />I love the simplest bud that blows, <br />I love the meanest weed that grows: <br />Symbols of nature--every form <br />That speaks of her this heart can warm; <br />But ye, delicious flowers, assume <br />In fancy's eye a brighter bloom; <br />A dearer pleasure ye diffuse, <br />Cull'd by the fountain of Vaucluse! <br /> <br />For ye were nurtur'd on the sod <br />Where PETRARCH mourn'd, and LAURA trod; <br />Ye grew on that inspiring ground <br />Where love has shed enchantment round; <br />Where still the tear of passion flows, <br />Fond tribute to a poet's woes! <br />Yet, cherish'd flowers, with love and fame <br />This wreath entwines a milder name; <br />Friendship, who better knows than they <br />The spells that smooth our length'ning way,-- <br />Friendship the blooming off'ring brought; <br />When FORBES the classic fountain sought, <br />For me he cull'd the fresh-blown flowers, <br />And fix'd their hues with potent powers; <br />Their pliant forms with skilful care <br />He seized, and stamp'd duration there; <br />His gift shall ever glad the eye,-- <br />Nor, like my verse is born to die.<br /><br />Helen Maria Williams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-john-forbes-esq/
