PLATONIC LOVE - ACACIA

 PLATONIC LOVE - ACACIA

THE savages of America have consecrated the acacia to the genius of chaste love; their bows are made from the incorruptible wood of this tree, their arrows are armed with one of its thorns. These fierce children of the desert, whom nothing can subdue, conceive a sentiment full of delicacy; perhaps what they are unable to express by words, but they understand the sentiment by the expression of a branch of blooming acacia. The young savage, like the city coquette, understands this seducing language, and receives, blushing ,the homage of him, who has won her heart by respect, and by love.

It is not more than a century since the forests of Canada yielded us this beautiful tree.The botanist Robin, who first brought it us, gave it his name. The acacia. when spreading its light shade in our groves. with its scented flowers, and sweet and fresh verdure, seems to prolong the spring. The nightingale loves to confide its nest to this new inhabitant of our climate; the lovely bird, assured by the long and strong thorns which protect its family, sometimes descends upon the lowest branches of the tree to make its ravishing notes the better heard.  

The acacia has been made the emblem of domestic beauty by an anonymous writer ,who thus speaks of it :"Teints of the white, the golden, and the red rose are beautifully intermingled with the rich blossoms of the acacia. It is found in the most retired places, and it blooms the fairest in the closeness of its own foliage. It loves the mossy rock, and the solitary grove and pines away in the gay garden and crowded parterre. Nour-mahal sings:

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there, 
The acacia waves her yellow hair,  

Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 

For flowering in a wilderness: 

Then come, thy Arab maid, will be 

The loved and lone acacia-tree. 

There could be no fitter emblem of a beautiful woman, flourishing in the retirement of her home, secluded from the vanities of 'crowded life,' and adorning with her bloom the abode domestic affection."

They know not my heart who believe there can be 

One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee; 

Who think, while I see thee, in beauty's young hour, 

As pure as the morning's first dew on the flower, 

I could harm what I love-as the sun's wanton ray 

But smiles on the dewdrop to waste it away! 

                                              MOORE  

References:

1. THE POETRY OF FLOWERS AND FLOWERS OF POETRY TO WHICH ARE ADDED A SIMPLE TREATISE ON BOTANY WITH FAMILIAR EXAMPLES AND A COPIOUS FLORAL DICTIONARY EDITED BY FRANCES SOSGOOD NEW YORK JC RIKER 15 ANN STREET 1841