Page:Poems (Bryant, 1821).djvu/41



Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat,

And earthward bent thy gentle eye,

Unapt the passing view to meet,

When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.

Oft, in the sunless April day,

Thy early smile has staid my walk;

But midst the gorgeous blooms of May

I pass’d thee on thy humble stalk.

So they, who climb to wealth, forget

The friends in darker fortunes tried;

I copied them—but I regret

That I should ape the ways of pride.

And when again the genial hour

Awakes the painted tribes of light,

I’ll not o’erlook the modest flower

That made the woods of April bright.