Southernwood

So I have harvested my womanhood 
Into one tall green bush of southernwood; 
And if the leaves are green about your feet. 
And if my fragrance on a day should meet 
And brace your weariness, why, not in vain 
Shall I have husbanded from sun and rain 
My spices if you chance to find them sweet. 

I have grown up beneath the sheltering shade 
Of roses: roses' poignant scents have made 
My sharp spice sweeter than 'twas wont to be. 
Therefore if any vagrant gather me 
And wear me in his bosom, I will give 
Him dreams of roses; he shall dream and live. 
And wake to find the rose a verity. 

Gather me, gather. I have dreams to sell. 
The sea is not by any fluted shell 
More faithfully remembered than I keep 
My thought of roses, through beguiling sleep 
And the bewildering day. I'll give to him 
Who gathers me more sweetness than he'd dream 
Without me — more than any lily could; 
I that am flowerless, being southernwood.