Classic Poem

Peeping from out the hedges,
Bending above the brim
Of the stream that threads the meadows,
Fringing the forest dim.

Stealing into my garden
Waiting not my call;
Scaling the ancient gateway,
Creeping under the wall.

Climbing the mossed enclosure
Yonder, where willows wave,
Nestling against the tombstone,
Clustered on every grave.

Christened by name, yet blooming
Silently everywhere;
Asking for naught' yet giving,
Lavish as summer air,

I love thee, rose of the hedges,
Rose of the streamlet's rim;
Meek adorner of tombstones,
Prince of the forest dim.