Thou poisonous laurel leaf, that in the soil <br />Of life, which I am doomed to till full sore, <br />Spring'st like a noisome weed! I do not toil <br />For thee, and yet thou still com'st darkening o'er <br />My plot of earth with thy unwelcome shade. <br />Thou nightshade of the heart, beneath whose boughs <br />All fair and gentle buds hang withering, <br />Why hast thou wreathed thyself around my brows, <br />Casting from thence the blossoms of my spring, <br />Breathing on youth's sweet roses till they fade? <br />Alas! thou art an evil weed of woe, <br />Watered with tears and watched with sleepless care, <br />Seldom doth envy thy green glories spare; <br />And yet men covet thee—ah, wherefore do they so!<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thou-poisonous-laurel-leaf-that-in-the-soil/
