 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
361
DANDELIONS.
Dandelions of the velvet lawn,
Golden brooches on the plaid of May;
Living tints of beauty ye have drawn
From the noontide of some cloudless day!
Golden brooches on the plaid of May;
Living tints of beauty ye have drawn
From the noontide of some cloudless day!
A prolific sisterhood are ye,
Blooming in the common paths we tread,
Giving lustre to the grassy lea,
Growing on the green mounds of the dead.
Blooming in the common paths we tread,
Giving lustre to the grassy lea,
Growing on the green mounds of the dead.
Tulips nod on longer, fairer stems;
Blue-bells swing more gracefully in air,
Roses boast far richer diadems—
Gayer dress the jewelled lilacs wear.
Blue-bells swing more gracefully in air,
Roses boast far richer diadems—
Gayer dress the jewelled lilacs wear.
Wherefore then so dear are ye to one
Finding sweet romance no more in life,
Struggling on beneath a clouded sun,
Daily covered with the dust of strife?
Finding sweet romance no more in life,
Struggling on beneath a clouded sun,
Daily covered with the dust of strife?
Drinking gladness from the gentle rain,
Looking upward to yon concave blue—
Faded chaplets ye recall again,
Worn by May-time when my years were few:
Looking upward to yon concave blue—
Faded chaplets ye recall again,
Worn by May-time when my years were few:
When I plucked ye in my rural walks,
While the ground-bird framed her nest and sung;
Piping gayly on the hollow stalks,
Changing them to ringlets with my tongue.
While the ground-bird framed her nest and sung;
Piping gayly on the hollow stalks,
Changing them to ringlets with my tongue.
When ye graced with yellow dots no more
Pastures old, through which I loved to stray,
Filmy globes of silver that ye bore,
With a breath I used to blow away.
Pastures old, through which I loved to stray,
Filmy globes of silver that ye bore,
With a breath I used to blow away.
362
Emblems were they of delusive schemes
Wildly shaped in boyhood by my brain,
Passing joys, and evanescent dreams,
Perished, never to revive again.
Wildly shaped in boyhood by my brain,
Passing joys, and evanescent dreams,
Perished, never to revive again.
Some at rest beneath the turf of spring,
Dear to me in those enchanted hours,
Back with looks they wore in life, ye bring;
Back with shouts, and laughter wild, ye flowers!
Dear to me in those enchanted hours,
Back with looks they wore in life, ye bring;
Back with shouts, and laughter wild, ye flowers!
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |