  Meadows are dotted, far and wide, With velvet stars that bring A golden off'ring of delight,— Flower-goslings of the spring. Then gray-haired pappus, downy, soft, Follows with pistils loose, And the gosling of the early spring Becomes a white-fledged goose. Its feathers float on ev'ry breeze That fans the verdant mead, And children count the hours of day By breaths that waft the seed. Soft, silent Time that comes apace O'er human flowers that bloom, You quickly change youth to old age, And lead life toward the tomb. Bright turf-born gosling of the field, Teach us to smile, and give A perfume from a fragrant soul, That on and on shall live. |
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