r
��OLIVER ST. JOHN GOGARTY The Plum Tree by the House
morning light my damson show'd Its airy branches ovcrsnov/d On all their quickening fronds, That tingled where the early sun Was flowing soft as silence on Palm trees by coral ponds. Out of the dark of sleep I come To find the day break into bloom, The black boughs all in white' I said, I must stand still and watch This glory, strive no more to match With similes things fair. I am not fit to conjure up A bird that 's white enough to hop Unstain'd in such a tree; Nor crest him with the bloom to come In purple glory on the plum. Leave me alone with my delight To store up joy against the night, This moment leave to me' Why should a poet strain his head To make his mind a marriage bed; Shall Beauty cease to bear ? There must be things which never shall Be match'd or made symmetrical On Earth or in the Air, Branches that Chinese draughtsmen drew, Which none may find an equal to, Unless he enter there
�� �
