Classic Poem

When late (grave Palmer) these thy graffs and flowers
(So well disposed by thy auspicious hand)
Were made the objects to my weaker powers;
I could not but in admiration stand.
First: thy success did strike my sense with wonder;
That 'mongst so many plants transplanted hither,
Not one but thrives; in spite of storms and thunder,
Unseasoned frosts, or the most envious weather.
Then I admired, the rare and precious use
Thy skill hath made of rank despised weeds;
Whilst other souls convert to base abuse
The sweetest simples, and most sovereign seeds.
Next, that which rapt me, was: I might behold
How like the carbuncle in Aaron's breast
The seven-fold flower of art (more rich than gold)
Did sparkle forth in centre of the rest:
Thus, as a ponderous thing in water cast
Extendeth circles into infinites,
Still making that the greatest that is last,
Till the one hath drowned the other in our sights,
So in my brain; the strong impression
Of thy rich labours worlds of thoughts created,
Which thoughts being circumvolved in gyre-like motion
Were spent with wonder as they were dilated,
Till giddy with amazement I fell down
In a deep trance;...
...When, lo, to crown thy worth
I struggled with this passion that did drown
My abler faculties; and thus brake forth:
Palmer, thy travails well become thy name,
And thou in them shalt live as long as fame.
Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori.