 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
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THE WIND-FLOWER.
Wind-Flower, Wind-Flower, why are you here?
This is a boisterous time of the year
For blossoms as fragile and tender as you
To be out on the roadsides, in spring-raiment new!
The snow-flakes yet flutter abroad in the air,
And the sleet and the tempest are weary to bear.
Have you not come here, pale darling, too soon?
You would seem more at home with the blossoms of June.
This is a boisterous time of the year
For blossoms as fragile and tender as you
To be out on the roadsides, in spring-raiment new!
The snow-flakes yet flutter abroad in the air,
And the sleet and the tempest are weary to bear.
Have you not come here, pale darling, too soon?
You would seem more at home with the blossoms of June.
“Why have I come here?” the Wind-Flower said;
“Why?” and she gracefully nodded her head
As a breeze touched her petals; “Perhaps to show you
That the strong may be sometimes the delicate, too.
I am fed and refreshed by these cold, rushing rains;
The first melting snow-drifts brought life to my veins;
The storm rocked my cradle with lullabies wild:
I am here with the Wind,—because I am his child!”
“Why?” and she gracefully nodded her head
As a breeze touched her petals; “Perhaps to show you
That the strong may be sometimes the delicate, too.
I am fed and refreshed by these cold, rushing rains;
The first melting snow-drifts brought life to my veins;
The storm rocked my cradle with lullabies wild:
I am here with the Wind,—because I am his child!”
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |