The Sweet Briar

The sweet briar and the aurum brush
With blossoms purple gold and red
Are flames that bloom within the bush
And sacred seems the ground I tread.
The golden bees, the golden bees
Mock Memnon's sweetest melodies.

In shadow of the wood I lie
Un-waked by dreams of noisy mart;
Where dust and soot soil not the sky
Nor hammers beat on human heart;
Nor shuttles fleet, nor shuttles fleet
Weave life into a winding sheet.

When the pale axman strikes his stroke
And takes the warm life from my breast,
Plant by my grave a sapling oak
And violets of azure crest.
The oaken staff, the oaken staff
My shaft, the flowers my epitaph.

Utah Phillips (1935-2008) learned from Rosalie Sorrels who got it from a manuscript in the possession of Olive Wooley Burt of Salt Lake City.

                                            

Environmental Studies Program
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The University of Montana
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Email: evst@mso.umt.edu