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141
“THE FLOWER.”
Inscribed, with every sentiment of reverence and affection, to A Great Poet.
From the forest old,
From the haunted mere,
From the silent wold,
From the river clear,
From the haunted mere,
From the silent wold,
From the river clear,
From far purple hills,
From billowy fields of wheat,
From a thousand rills
Came a whisper sweet:
From billowy fields of wheat,
From a thousand rills
Came a whisper sweet:
Whisper of a breeze
On its wings that bore
Golden memories
Of the bards of yore:
On its wings that bore
Golden memories
Of the bards of yore:
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“Seeds” that, scattered wide,
Struck root on every hand;
Grew and multiplied
Over all the land;
Struck root on every hand;
Grew and multiplied
Over all the land;
Under shine and shower
Blossomed all abroad—
Call them “weed” or “flower,”
Both are dear to God!
Blossomed all abroad—
Call them “weed” or “flower,”
Both are dear to God!
On the rough highway
Some frail rootage found,
Some in dullest clay,
Some in outworn ground;
Some frail rootage found,
Some in dullest clay,
Some in outworn ground;
One, more blest, was borne
To a “garden-bower”
Where in life's fresh morn
Dwelt a Seer of power:
To a “garden-bower”
Where in life's fresh morn
Dwelt a Seer of power:
Gentle, wise, and strong;
Nor loveless—though apart,—
Weaving magic song
To chain the human heart.
Nor loveless—though apart,—
Weaving magic song
To chain the human heart.
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In that hour of gold
He caught with reverent care,
And in virgin mould
“Cast” it fondly there.
He caught with reverent care,
And in virgin mould
“Cast” it fondly there.
Fell a quickening dew
From the stars above,
With influence sweet and new
Of the Eternal Love!
From the stars above,
With influence sweet and new
Of the Eternal Love!
Shot a tender glow
From the heart of earth,
Where with many a throe
She gave a New Age birth!
From the heart of earth,
Where with many a throe
She gave a New Age birth!
While from founts of Thought
Primeval—kenned by few!
Sacred lymph he brought
To feed it; till it grew
Primeval—kenned by few!
Sacred lymph he brought
To feed it; till it grew
A stately flower and tall,
With glorious beauty crowned:
The joy—the pride of all
The wondering valleys round!—
With glorious beauty crowned:
The joy—the pride of all
The wondering valleys round!—
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Yes, “splendid is the flower,”
Dear Poet whom we prize,
That from thy garden bower
Breathes airs of Paradise.—
Dear Poet whom we prize,
That from thy garden bower
Breathes airs of Paradise.—
Yet say not all are “Thieves”
To whom the winds have blown
The magic seed, whose leaves
Claim kindred with thine own.
To whom the winds have blown
The magic seed, whose leaves
Claim kindred with thine own.
Their blooms are “poor indeed,”
Perhaps, when matched with thine;
But all are of one seed—
A seed that is divine.
Perhaps, when matched with thine;
But all are of one seed—
A seed that is divine.
Nor need'st Thou grudge how wide
Soe'er such germs may fall:—
Heaven's light is not less bright
Because 'tis shared by all.
Soe'er such germs may fall:—
Heaven's light is not less bright
Because 'tis shared by all.
1864.
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