THE LAUREL CROWNED
The bust was beautiful indeed;A crown of laurel bound the head.What name? I asked, as if one needA name,—thoughtful, I said,—When laurel crowned.
She went to the enchanted woodFor Daphne laurels,—so they said,—She left her home and all that stoodFor home to bind the laurels on her head,—So she was crowned.
And who was she? This other oneNot laurel crowned,—and still beholdThe noble brow,—what had she done?Oh! Motherhood,—naught to be told,—Not to be crowned.
I wondered, as I passed alongAmong the busts bound and unboundOf realms of art, of realms of song,What means it to be laurel crowned,—Just laurel crowned.
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