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Poem by Edward Bulwer-Lytton The Treasures by the Wayside A TALE FOR SORROW. The sky was dull, the scene was wild, I wander'd up the mountain way; And with me went a joyous child, The man in thought, the child at play, My heart was sad with many a grief; Mine eyes with former tears were dim; The child!--a stone, a flower, a leaf, Had each its fairy wealth to him! From time to time, unto my side He bounded back to show the treasure; I was not hard enough to chide, Nor wise enough to share his pleasure. We paused at last--the child began Again his sullen guide to tease; "They say you are a learnèd man-- So look, and tell me what are these?" Aroused with pain, my listless eyes The various spoils scarce wander o'er; Than straight they hail a sage's prize In what seem'd infant toys before: This herb was one the glorious Swede Had given a garden's wealth to find; That stone had harden'd round a weed The earliest deluge left behind. Fit stores for science, Discontent Had pass'd unheeding on the wild; And Nature had her wonders lent As things of gladness to the child! Thus, through the present, Sorrow goes, And sees its barren self alone; While healing in the leaflet grows, And Time blooms back within the stone. O THOU, so prodigal of good, Whose wisdom with delight is clad; How clear should be to Gratitude The golden duty--to be glad! Edward Bulwer-Lytton Edward Bulwer-Lytton's other poems:
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