 | The white dove, and Other Poems for Children |  |
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Wild-Flowers.
I do not wish to gather them,
The wild flowers fresh and fair;
My touch would only wither them,
Children of sun and air!
I fill no water-vase with them,
Bind not with them my hair,
Wild solitudes were made for them,
Else desolate and bare.
The wild flowers fresh and fair;
My touch would only wither them,
Children of sun and air!
I fill no water-vase with them,
Bind not with them my hair,
Wild solitudes were made for them,
Else desolate and bare.
I look at them with loving eyes;
I bless them as I pass,
Sown thick as stars in midnight skies,
Among the moss and grass,
Wooing the dainty butterflies,
Their honey dew to sip;
And opening to the restless bees,
Their cool and fragrant lip.
I bless them as I pass,
Sown thick as stars in midnight skies,
Among the moss and grass,
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Their honey dew to sip;
And opening to the restless bees,
Their cool and fragrant lip.
Where that old tree so far extends,
Its roots into the stream;
Just where the mossy green-sward ends
And sand and pebbles gleam;
The broad leaved water-lily bends,
As in a pleasant dream;
Most fit for dew the midnight sends,
Those golden goblets seem!
Its roots into the stream;
Just where the mossy green-sward ends
And sand and pebbles gleam;
The broad leaved water-lily bends,
As in a pleasant dream;
Most fit for dew the midnight sends,
Those golden goblets seem!
The wind-flowers nodding to the breeze,
In all wild places blow;
Sweet violets, whose localities,
The village children know.
Tall columbines that woo the bees,
On rocky ledges grow,
And swing beneath the forest trees
Their bright bells too and fro.
In all wild places blow;
Sweet violets, whose localities,
The village children know.
Tall columbines that woo the bees,
On rocky ledges grow,
And swing beneath the forest trees
Their bright bells too and fro.
39
The dandelion, broadcast sown,
In meadow, field, and street,
Like golden coin at random thrown
Beneath the passing feet,
Thrives with a vigor all its own,
Defies the summer heat,
And far and wide, by breezes blown,
Its plumed seeds we meet.
In meadow, field, and street,
Like golden coin at random thrown
Beneath the passing feet,
Thrives with a vigor all its own,
Defies the summer heat,
And far and wide, by breezes blown,
Its plumed seeds we meet.
Bright blooms the kingly buttercup:
And smiling in the grass
The honest daisy looking up,
Salutes us as we pass.
And many an urn, and cup, and bell,
Blooming without a name;
But fairer far than tongue can tell,
Puts mimic art to shame.
And smiling in the grass
The honest daisy looking up,
Salutes us as we pass.
And many an urn, and cup, and bell,
Blooming without a name;
But fairer far than tongue can tell,
Puts mimic art to shame.
Fair blossoms scattered everywhere,
Sweet tokens manifest,
Of God's abounding love and care;
Who knoweth what is best.
Who giveth them the summer air,
Out of the sweet south-west;
Bids earth a genial soil prepare,
And warms them in her breast.
Sweet tokens manifest,
Of God's abounding love and care;
Who knoweth what is best.
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Out of the sweet south-west;
Bids earth a genial soil prepare,
And warms them in her breast.
| The white dove, and Other Poems for Children | |