by James Russell Lowell
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American Literature – American Poetry – James Russell Lowell
< < < What Rabbi Jehosha said
With a Pressed Flower > > >
With A Copy Of Aucassin And Nicolete
Leaves fit to have been poor Juliet’s cradle-rhyme,
With gladness of a heart long quenched in mould
They vibrate still, a nest not yet grown cold
From its fledged burthen. The numb hand of Time
Vainly his glass turns; here is endless prime;
Here lips their roses keep and locks their gold;
Here Love in pristine innocency bold
Speaks what our grosser conscience makes a crime.
Because it tells the dream that all have known
Once in their lives, and to life’s end the few;
Because its seeds o’er Memory’s desert blown
Spring up in heartsease such as Eden knew;
Because it hath a beauty all its own,
Dear Friend, I plucked this herb of grace for you.
< < < What Rabbi Jehosha said
With a Pressed Flower > > >
American Literature – American Poetry – James Russell Lowell
Copyright holders – Public Domain
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