<commit_before><commit_msg>scraped from http://www.public-domain-poetry.com/<commit_after>---
author: <NAME> 
title: To Flowers From Italy In Winter
---

Sunned in the South, and here to-day;
 - If all organic things
Be sentient, Flowers, as some men say,
 What are your ponderings?

How can you stay, nor vanish quite
 From this bleak spot of thorn,
And birch, and fir, and frozen white
 Expanse of the forlorn?

Frail luckless exiles hither brought!
 Your dust will not regain
Old sunny haunts of Classic thought
 When you shall waste and wane;

But mix with alien earth, be lit
 With frigid Boreal flame,
And not a sign remain in it
 To tell men whence you came.
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