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The Woodwax
Laughing, midst its yellow blooms,
At the fire, that it consumes;
Springs the woodwax every year,
It has naught from man to fear.
At the fire, that it consumes;
Springs the woodwax every year,
It has naught from man to fear.
From the turnpike's grassy side,
See it flourish far and wide,
On the steep and rocky hills;
Naught the woodwax hurts, or kills.
See it flourish far and wide,
On the steep and rocky hills;
Naught the woodwax hurts, or kills.
298
Over all the pastures spread,
Where the humblest feet may tread;
Richer carpet never king
For his palace flower could bring.
Where the humblest feet may tread;
Richer carpet never king
For his palace flower could bring.
Glorious sight, in summer time,
'Tis, to see it in its prime;
With its spikes of flowers untold,
Covering all the hills with gold!
'Tis, to see it in its prime;
With its spikes of flowers untold,
Covering all the hills with gold!
Though a plant of stranger race,
It with us has found a place;
Vain the farmer's art, or toil,
That would drive it from the soil.
It with us has found a place;
Vain the farmer's art, or toil,
That would drive it from the soil.
Vain in winter is the fire,
Which he kindles in his ire;
Still it laughs amidst its blooms,
At the flame, that it consumes.
Which he kindles in his ire;
Still it laughs amidst its blooms,
At the flame, that it consumes.
Poem No. 314; October 1855
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