Page:The Romance of Nature; or, The Flower-Seasons Illustrated.djvu/340

214 THE ARBUTUS.

should we grieve, that to the chilly air

Of our beloved, yet dim and wintery land

The luxuries of other climes deny

Their stately growth?—What though we may not roam

'Mid groves where orange-blossoms perfume breathe

From the same branch where hangs the golden fruit;

Have we not, even 'neath our bleakest sky,

A tree as beautiful—whom snow, nor frost,

Nor the loud-chiding, many-voiced wind

May e'er affright or wither?—Know ye not

The verdant Arbutus?—which ever fair

The whole four seasons round, is loveliest now,

When Winter's scowling brow hath driven all

The frailer blossoms from the leaf-strewn earth.