On Receiving A Privately Printed Volume Of Poems From A Friend Poem by Thomas Buchanan Read

A modest bud matured mid secret dews,
May yield its bloom beside some hidden path,
Full of sweet perfumes and of rarest hues
While few may note the beauty which it hath--

And yet perchance some maiden, wandering there,
May bend beside it with a loving look,
Or by the streamlet place it in her hair;
And smile above her image in the brook.

A bird with pinions beautiful, and shy,
May sing scarce noted mid the noisier throng;
Or 'scaping earth, take refuge in the sky
And though concealed still charm the air with song.

Yet haply some enamored ear may hark,
And deem it sweetest of the birds that sing;
Or in his heart still praise the unseen lark
That leads his fancies toward its heavenward wing.

A star in some sequestered nook on high,
In its deep niche of blue may calmly shine,
While careless eyes that wander o'er the sky,
May only deem the brightest orbs divine.

But there are those who love to sit and trace
Between all these some shy retiring light,
For such, they know, shed through the veil of space
The general halo that adorns the night.

Thus many a poet's volume unproclaimed
By all the myriad tongues of Fame afar,
The few may deem as worthy to be named,
(As I do this) a Flower, a Bird, a Star!