Day-stars! that ope your frownless eyes to twinkle
From rainbow galaxies of earth’s creation,
And dew-drops on her lonely altars sprinkle
As a libation.
Ye matin worshippers! who bending lowly
Before the uprisen sun, God’s lidless eye,
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy
Incense on high.
Ye bright...
When hath wind or rain
Borne hard upon weak plant that wanted me,
And I (however they might bluster round)
Walkt off? ’T were most ungrateful; for sweet scents
Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter thoughts,
And nurse and pillow the dull memory
That would let drop without them her best stores.
They bring me tales of youth and tones of...
The Melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead;
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit’s tread.
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay,
And from the wood-top calls the crow through all...
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...
Flowers — Well — if anybody
Can the ecstasy define —
Half a transport — half a trouble —
With which flowers humble men:
Anybody find the fountain
From which floods so contra flow —
I will give him all the Daisies
Which upon the hillside blow.
Too much pathos in their faces...
How many Flowers fail in Wood —
Or perish from the Hill —
Without the privilege to know
That they are Beautiful —
How many cast a nameless Pod
Upon the nearest Breeze —
Unconscious of the Scarlet Freight —
It bear to Other Eyes —
I tend my flowers for thee —
Bright Absentee!
My Fuchsia's Coral Seams
Rip — while the Sower — dreams
Geraniums — tint — and spot —
Low Daisies — dot —
My Cactus — splits her Beard
To show her throat —
Carnations — tip their spice —
And Bees — pick up —...
If the foolish, call them "flowers" —
Need the wiser, tell?
If the Savants "Classify" them
It is just as well!
Those who read the "Revelations"
Must not criticize
Those who read the same Edition —
With beclouded Eyes!
Could we stand with that Old "Moses" —
...
Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their — low Brows —
Or Bees — that thought the Summer's name
Some rumor of Delirium,
No Summer — could — for Them —
Or Arctic Creatures, dimly stirred —
By Tropic Hint — some Travelled Bird
...
