Sonnet Lii. To The Yellow Cistus. Poem by Henry Alford

Flower, that with thy silken tapestry
Of flexile petals interwove with green,
Clothest the mountain walls of this calm scene;
We, a love--led poetic company,
Pronounce thee happy; if happiness it be
In every cleft the bright gray rocks between
To plant thy seemly gems, and reign the queen
Of path--side blossoms over wood and lea.
Live, and of those poor fools who idly moan
Thy fragile lifetime's shortness, reck not aught;
Thou diest not, when thy ripe blossoms are strown
On the damp earth, or by the tempest caught;
Thou hast a future life to them unknown,
In the eternity of human thought.