True Love Poem by Daniel Wilson

True love is lowly as the wayside flower,
That springeth up beneath the traveller's tread,
And lifteth trustfully its lovely head,
Content to bless therewith the passing hour;
Unheedful of the wealth of heavenly dower
It lavisheth upon a path bestead
With the coarse trafficking of sordid meed,
So it lie open but to sun and shower.
And love no less deals with unstinted hand:
Lavish to others, heedless of reward:
Deeming no sacrifice of self too hard,
So that, with fruitful arms outspread, she stand
Sowing around home's hearth her harvest treasure:
Heart's hoards of golden grain, showered down in affluent measure.