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To My Father There is a flower that loves to curl, Its tendrils round the blasted tree, And all its brightest gems unfurl, Where winter frowns, most drearily-- And often is thy beauty seen, Enwreath'd with snow--sweet evergreen. There is a flow'r thats loves to bind, The limb that bow'd beneath the blast, And kindly round its fragments wind Till all the tempest's rage is past-- And sweetly does the mourner lean, On thy kind arm--sweet evergreen.-- Thou windest not thy gentle stem Around the branch that needs thee not,-- Tis not thy pride to honor them, By whom thou soon would'st be forgot.-- Oh no--thy smile is oft'ner seen Where weep's the opprest--sweet evergreen And O, where like the blasted tree, My Fathers verdure fades away; My greenness shall his beauty be, My love shall be his prop and stay; And still like thee will I be seen, Affection's flow'er--sweet evergreen. [[line]]