 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
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DANDELIONS.
Oh, dandelions, ye are here againWith June's glad sunshine in your golden eyes!
Far as the eye may reach, o'er hill and plain,
A yellow smile on nature's fair face lies.
Oh, bright-eyed ones! ye are the only flowers
Which come to me as ye in childhood came;
All things seem changed to me, since those bright hours,—
All but your faces,—they are just the same,—
And I retrace my path of toil and care
Back to the realm of toys and skipping-ropes,
And blow your gossamer seed-globes high in air,
And watch their rise,—as rose my early hopes!
Too truly said,—for like your feathery crown
I've found those hopes, since then, most literally down!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |