 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
FLOWERS OF THE FALLOW.
I like these plants that you call weeds,—
Sedge, hardhack, mullein, yarrow,—
That knit their roots and sift their seeds
Where any grassy wheel-track leads
Through country by-ways narrow.
Sedge, hardhack, mullein, yarrow,—
That knit their roots and sift their seeds
Where any grassy wheel-track leads
Through country by-ways narrow.
They fringe the rugged hillside farms,
Grown old with cultivation,
With such wild wealth of rustic charms
As bloomed in Nature's matron arms
The first days of creation.
Grown old with cultivation,
With such wild wealth of rustic charms
As bloomed in Nature's matron arms
The first days of creation.
They show how Mother Earth loves best
To deck her tired-out places;
By flowery lips, in hours of rest,
Against hard work she will protest
With homely airs and graces.
To deck her tired-out places;
By flowery lips, in hours of rest,
Against hard work she will protest
With homely airs and graces.
You plough the arbutus from her hills,
Hew down her mountain-laurel:
Their place, as best she can, she fills
With humbler blossoms; so she wills
To close with you her quarrel.
Hew down her mountain-laurel:
Their place, as best she can, she fills
With humbler blossoms; so she wills
To close with you her quarrel.
She yielded to your axe, with pain,
Her free, primeval glory;
She brought you crops of golden grain:
You say, “How dull she grows! how plain!”
The old, mean, selfish story!
Her free, primeval glory;
She brought you crops of golden grain:
You say, “How dull she grows! how plain!”
The old, mean, selfish story!
Her wildwood soil you may subdue,
Tortured by hoe and harrow;
But leave her for a year or two,
And see! she stands and laughs at you
With hardhack, mullein, yarrow!
Tortured by hoe and harrow;
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And see! she stands and laughs at you
With hardhack, mullein, yarrow!
Dear Earth, the world is hard to please!
Yet heaven's breath gently passes
Into the life of flowers like these;
And I lie down at blessèd ease
Among thy weeds and grasses.
Yet heaven's breath gently passes
Into the life of flowers like these;
And I lie down at blessèd ease
Among thy weeds and grasses.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |