Scottish Poetry Selection
- The Botanist
The BotanistTwa men he was, the basket-burdened wives,
Who by his counter cheapened eggs and teas,
Knew but the more prosaic of his lives -
A quiet, kindly man that kept good cheese.
But in his sanctum - were you privileged -
You found him garrulous with winter tales
Of summer triumphs: learned grew his air,
And microscope and slide forgot the scales.
Pleasant it was to see him flush and thrill
With bright-eyed memories, jubilant as a boy,
Of rove Menziesia on a Perthshire hill,
Like old Ulysses in the vein of Troy,
Now peace be with him! Many such there be,
Of unsuspected love, who find it fame
If they but earn the same reward as he,
That one poor moss perpetuates his name.
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