Fashionable. The Tale of a Snowdrop
Harriet Mary
Teulon
Teulon, Harriet Mary
H. M. T.
Metadata research and editing
DVPP Project Team
Fukushima
Kailey
University of Victoria Digital Victorian Periodical Poetry Project
Victoria, BC, Canada
In the public domain
Poet attribution: H. M. T.
is the pseudonym of Harriet Mary Teulon. (AC)
Good Words
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It sprang up so quickly
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Fashionable
.
The Tale of a Snowdrop
.
It sprang up so quickly
Out in the cold air,
It never looked sickly
While it was left there,
With the sky overhead,
And the white crusted snow
Gathered below—
Warming its bed !
But now it is dead.
The ladies came shaking and quaking with weakness
To visit the country in its naked bleakness,
And thought it quite sad
To see such a plant in a climate so bad !
So they took it away
On a frosty bright day,
To the splendour and heat,
And the elegant gloom
Of a fine city room,
In a gas-lighted street.
But, oh ! had-you pass’d by its beautiful stand,
And held a fresh flower from the hedge in your hand,
You would not have believed such a dingy dark thing
Could ever have been the white snowdrop of spring.
And it faded at last,
And without a regret on the dust-heap was cast.
Ah me, what a pity
To think of transplanting it into a city !
So the world wanteth you, my sweet flower of earth —
It admires your growth, and your innocent mirth,
But it thinks you a little uncultured and wild,
And into its keeping would have you beguiled :
You would look so much better bedeck’d with its charms
And be kept, by its forms, from such numberless harms,
Such an exquisite polish, and such a new grace
Would appear in your words, and be seen in your face—
It is really quite dreadful that one such as you
Should be out of the ranks of the world’s select few !
But it never can be—
You must grow,
While below,
In God’s pure air of nature if you would be free.
The world, if it gain you,
Will carefully train you,
But you will decay :
And those who transplanted the choice little flower,
Will think you less beautiful every hour,
Till your sweetness is gone, and they cast you away.
So never, oh never
Forsake the green hedgerow of freedom and truth,
Where your heart has rejoiced in the sunshine of youth ;
But bloom on there for ever,
For ever and aye !
H. M. T.