The Evergreen.
By George Pope Morris
Love can not be the aloe-tree,
Whose bloom but once is seen;
Go search the grove--the tree of love
Is sure the evergreen:
For that's the same, in leaf or frame,
'Neath cold or sunny skies;
You take the ground its roots have bound,
Or it, transplanted, dies!
That love thus shoots, and firmly roots
In woman's heart, we see;
Through smiles and tears in after-years
It grows a fadeless tree.
The tree of love, all trees above,
For ever may be seen,
In summer's bloom or winter's gloom,
A hardy evergreen.