Poems (Katharine Elizabeth Howard)/The laurel crowned
THE LAUREL CROWNED
The bust was beautiful indeed;
A crown of laurel bound the head.
What name? I asked, as if one need
A name,—thoughtful, I said,—
When laurel crowned.
A crown of laurel bound the head.
What name? I asked, as if one need
A name,—thoughtful, I said,—
When laurel crowned.
She went to the enchanted wood
For Daphne laurels,—so they said,—
She left her home and all that stood
For home to bind the laurels on her head,—
So she was crowned.
For Daphne laurels,—so they said,—
She left her home and all that stood
For home to bind the laurels on her head,—
So she was crowned.
And who was she? This other one
Not laurel crowned,—and still behold
The noble brow,—what had she done?
Oh! Motherhood,—naught to be told,—
Not to be crowned.
Not laurel crowned,—and still behold
The noble brow,—what had she done?
Oh! Motherhood,—naught to be told,—
Not to be crowned.
I wondered, as I passed along
Among the busts bound and unbound
Of realms of art, of realms of song,
What means it to be laurel crowned,—
Just laurel crowned.
Among the busts bound and unbound
Of realms of art, of realms of song,
What means it to be laurel crowned,—
Just laurel crowned.