 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
132
ON A LATE FLOWERING FORGETMENOT.
SEPTEMBER 14TH.
Forgetmenot!—no, I will not forgetThee, little flower, by the bare roadside—
Thou dost recal the glories of springtide,
When the full stream of loveliness had set
In with its first, deep flow, from violet
And primrose, sweetening into maiden pride,
To the rich rose, and lily, which doth hide
Its drooping head in valleys moist and wet—
Stray flowër, that hast outlived all thy kind,
Reminder of those who themselves remind!
Thou call'st up that fresh time, when at the skies
Earth, through ye and your thousand azure eyes,
Gazed, like a blue-eyed child, as if to bind
Man's youth to her's by close affinities!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |