Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Wild Briar

The Wild Briar.

The woods are stripped to the wintry winds, And faded the flowers that bloomed on the lea,But one lingering gem the wanderer finds, 'Tis the ruby fruit of the Wild Briar tree.

The strong have bowed down, the beauteous are dead, The blast through the forest sighs mournfully;And bared is full many a lofty head, But there's fruit on the lowly Wild Briar tree.

It has cheered yon bird that so gentle and well Sings—What are the gaudy flowers to me?For here will I build my nest and dwell, By the simple, faithful, Wild Briar tree.