Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/To the Witch Hazel

To the Witch Hazel.

Mysterious plant! whose golden tresses waveWith a sad beauty in the dying year.Blooming amid November's frost severe,Like the pale corpse-light o'er the recent grave!If shepherds tell us true, thy wood has power,With gracious influence, to avert the harmOf ominous planets, and the fatal charmOf spirits wandering at the midnight hour;And thou canst point where buried treasures lie.But yet to me thou art an emblem highOf patient virtue, to the Christian given,Unchanged and bright, when all is dark beside;Our shield from wild temptations, and our guideTo treasures for the just laid up in heaven.