THE LAUREL, IN WHOM HE PLACED ALL HIS JOY HAS BEEN TAKEN FROM HIM TO ADORN HEAVEN That which in fragrance and in hue defied The odoriferous and lucid East, Fruits, flowers and herbs and leaves, and whence the West Of all rare excellence obtain'd the prize, My laurel sweet, which every beauty graced, Where every glowing virtue loved to dwell, Beheld beneath its fair and friendly shade My Lord, and by his side my Goddess sit. Still have I placed in that beloved plant My home of choicest thoughts: in fire, in frost Shivering or burning, still I have been bless'd. The world was of her perfect honours full When God, his own bright heaven therewith to grace, Reclaim'd her for Himself, for she was his. Macgregor.