 | [Poems by Larcom in] The ladies' wreath and Parlor Annual |  |
217
THE MULLEN.
I cannot understand,
Rough plant of Yankee-land,
Why voices sullen
Always should speak of thee
Slighting and scornfully
Though they no beauty see
In the low Mullen.
Rough plant of Yankee-land,
Why voices sullen
Always should speak of thee
Slighting and scornfully
Though they no beauty see
In the low Mullen.
Truly, thy chance is small,
Coming when blossoms all—
Harebells and roses—
Dance in the summer air,
Spreading sweet odors there!
Who'd for the Mullen care,
'Mong brighter posies?
Coming when blossoms all—
Harebells and roses—
Dance in the summer air,
Spreading sweet odors there!
Who'd for the Mullen care,
'Mong brighter posies?
Yet why should we expect
To see each blossom decked
Like a king's daughter?
Thou art a patient one
Whose daily work is done
Faithfully, seeking none,
Since none have sought her.
To see each blossom decked
Like a king's daughter?
Thou art a patient one
Whose daily work is done
Faithfully, seeking none,
Since none have sought her.
218
In some old, stubborn field,
That will no harvest yield,
Tak'st thou thy dwelling—
Or to a slope of land
Where no weak weed may stand
Cling'st, of a mighty Hand
Cheerfully telling.
That will no harvest yield,
Tak'st thou thy dwelling—
Or to a slope of land
Where no weak weed may stand
Cling'st, of a mighty Hand
Cheerfully telling.
Flirts have thy symbol told,
As of a beldame old
Wrapped up in flannels,
Peering with jaundiced eye
Into June's rosy sky;
O'erlooking, stiff and dry,
August's bare channels.
As of a beldame old
Wrapped up in flannels,
Peering with jaundiced eye
Into June's rosy sky;
O'erlooking, stiff and dry,
August's bare channels.
Yet hast thou sturdier worth
Than a frail May-day birth,
Dying in Summer;
Thy leaves in snow we find,
As a testator kind
Leaveth warm clothes behind
For the next comer.
Than a frail May-day birth,
Dying in Summer;
Thy leaves in snow we find,
As a testator kind
Leaveth warm clothes behind
For the next comer.
And though unprized at home,
If o'er the sea thou roam,
Hence torn asunder;
Florists European
Thee with due honor scan,
“Velvet American,”
Shown for a wonder.
If o'er the sea thou roam,
Hence torn asunder;
Florists European
Thee with due honor scan,
“Velvet American,”
Shown for a wonder.
Well, 'tis the same old law
Hinted in many a saw
All the world over;
Prophets at home denied;
Plain truth at beauty's side
Men evermore deride;
Leave her no lover.
Hinted in many a saw
All the world over;
Prophets at home denied;
Plain truth at beauty's side
Men evermore deride;
Leave her no lover.
Still the straight Mullen-stalk,
Priest of our daily walk,
Gives us plain preaching:—
“Live not for passing eyes
While earth a beggar lies,
And light is in the skies!”
Steadily teaching.
Priest of our daily walk,
Gives us plain preaching:—
“Live not for passing eyes
While earth a beggar lies,
And light is in the skies!”
Steadily teaching.
| [Poems by Larcom in] The ladies' wreath and Parlor Annual | |