friendly bough has obtained for it the ill-deserved name 
of the “ gadding or flaunting honeysuckle ” May not 
fancy indulge the thought that, from conscious weakness, 
“ To wither’d tree, to old grey stone. 
To these, or any thing ’twill cling?” 
Laurel wreath for warrior twine, 
Thoughts of hard-fought field’t will raise; 
Crown the poet’s deathless line, 
“ ’T is his due, with sprig of bays 
Myrtle for the lover bring, 
Orange-flower for blushing bride, 
And let violets ever spring 
Where the dead sleep side by side. 
But, from Flora’s fairy realm 
Token wouldst thou bring for me, 
Go where round yon towering elm 
Clings the woodbine tenderly; 
Bear me thence one wilding spray, 
Just in fancy’s ear to breathe 
That to thee, my bosom’s stay, 
Fond I cling as woodbine wreath. 
