Whence, O fragrant form of light,
Hast thou drifted through the night,
Swanlike, to a leafy nest,
On the restless waves, at rest?
Art thou from the snowy zone
Of a mountain-summit blown,
Or the blossom of a dream,
Fashioned in the foamy stream?
Nay,—methinks the maiden moon,
When the daylight came too soon,
...
(California Poppy)
THY satin vesture richer is than looms
Of Orient weave for raiment of her kings!
Not dyes of olden Tyre, not precious things
Regathered from the long-forgotten tombs
Of buried empires, not the iris plumes
That wave upon the tropics’ myriad wings,
Not all proud Sheba’s queenly offerings,
Could match the...
Anonymous translation from the German
THE ANGEL of the flowers, one day,
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay,—
That spirit to whose charge ’t is given
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven.
Awaking from his light repose,
The angel whispered to the rose:
“O fondest object of my care,
Still fairest found, where all are fair;
...
I Will not have the mad Clytie,
Whose head is turned by the sun;
The tulip is a courtly quean,
Whom, therefore, I will shun:
The cowslip is a country wench,
The violet is a nun;—
But I will woo the dainty rose,
The queen of every one.
The pea is but a wanton witch,
In too much haste to wed,
And clasps...
From “Irish Melodies”
’T IS the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud, is nigh
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh!
I ’ll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are...
Thou blossom, bright with autumn dew,
And colored with the heaven’s own blue,
That openest when the quiet light
Succeeds the keen and frosty night;
Thou comest not when violets lean
O’er wandering brooks and springs unseen,
Or columbines, in purple dressed,
Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest.
Thou waitest late, and com’st...
A Poppy grows upon the shore
Bursts her twin cup in summer late:
Her leaves are glaucous green and hoar,
Her petals yellow, delicate.
Oft to her cousins turns her thought,
In wonder if they care that she
Is fed with spray for dew, and caught
By every gale that sweeps the sea.
She has no lovers like the Red
...
When the wayside tangles blaze
In the low September sun,
When the flowers of Summer days
Droop and wither, one by one,
Reaching up through bush and brier,
Sumptuous brow and heart of fire,
Flaunting high its wind-rocked plume,
Brave with wealth of native bloom,—
Goldenrod!
When the meadow, lately shorn,...
Jest rain and snow! and rain again!
And dribble! drip! and blow!
Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then—
Some more rain and snow!
This morning I was ’most afeard
To wake up—when, I jing!
I seen the sun shine out and heerd
The first blue-bird of Spring!—
Mother she ’d raised the winder some;—
And in acrost the...
From “The Pelican Island”
—BIRDS, the free tenants of land, air, and ocean,
Their forms all symmetry, their motions grace;
In plumage, delicate and beautiful,
Thick without burden, close as fishes’ scales,
Or loose as full-grown poppies to the breeze;
With wings that might have had a soul within them,
They bore their owners by such sweet...
