Volume Iii Part 38 (1/2)

TO THE DANDELION

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, First pledge of blithesome May, Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold, High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they An Eldorado in the gra.s.s have found, Which not the rich earth's ample round May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be.

Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, Nor wrinkled the lean brow Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease; 'Tis the Spring's largess, which she scatters now To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, Though most hearts never understand To take it at G.o.d's value, but pa.s.s by The offered wealth with unrewarded eye.

Thou art my tropics and mine Italy; To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; The eyes thou givest me Are in the heart, and heed not s.p.a.ce or time: Not in mid June the golden-cuira.s.sed bee Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment In the white lily's breezy tent, His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.

Then think I of deep shadows on the gra.s.s, Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, Where, as the breezes pa.s.s, The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy ma.s.s, Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue That from the distance sparkle through Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move.

My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, Who, from the dark old tree Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, And I, secure in childish piety, Listened as if I heard an angel sing With news from heaven, which he could bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears When birds and flowers and I were happy peers.

How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art!

Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, Did we but pay the love we owe, And with a child's undoubting wisdom look On all these living pages of G.o.d's book.

James Russell Lowell [1819-1891]

DANDELION

At dawn, when England's childish tongue Lisped happy truths, and men were young, Her Chaucer, with a gay content Hummed through the s.h.i.+ning fields, scarce bent By poet's foot, and, plucking, set, All l.u.s.ty, sunny, dewy-wet, A dandelion in his verse, Like the first gold in childhood's purse.

At noon, when harvest colors die On the pale azure of the sky, And dreams through dozing gra.s.ses creep Of winds that are themselves asleep, Rapt Sh.e.l.ley found the airy ghost Of that bright flower the spring loves most, And ere one silvery ray was blown From its full disk made it his own.

Now from the stubble poets glean Scant flowers of thought; the Muse would wean Her myriad nurslings, feeding them On petals plucked from a dry stem.

For one small plumule still adrift, The wind-blown dandelion's gift, The fields once blossomy we scour Where the old poets plucked the flower.

Annie Rankin Annan [1848-1925]

THE DANDELIONS

Upon a showery night and still, Without a sound of warning, A trooper band surprised the hill, And held it in the morning.

We were not waked by bugle-notes, No cheer our dreams invaded, And yet, at dawn, their yellow coats On the green slopes paraded.

We careless folk the deed forgot; Till one day, idly walking, We marked upon the self-same spot A crowd of veterans talking.

They shook their trembling heads and gray With pride and noiseless laughter; When, well-a-day! they blew away, And ne'er were heard of after!

Helen Gray Cone [1859-1934]

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night,