  Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold, 5High-hearted buccaneers, o'er joyed that they An Eldorado in the grass have found, Which not the rich earth's ample round. May match in wealth—thou art more dear to me Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 10Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, Nor wrinkled the lean brow Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease; 'T is the Spring's largess, which she scatters now 15To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, Though most hearts never understand To take it at God's value, but pass by The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. Thou art my tropics and mine Italy; The eyes thou givest me Are in the heart, and heed not space or time: Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment 25In the white lily's breezy tent, His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. Then think I of deep shadows on the grass,— Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 30Where, as the breezes pass, The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways,— Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue That from the distance sparkle through 35Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, Who, from the dark old tree And I, secure in childish piety, Listened as if I heard an angel sing With news from Heaven, which he could bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears, 45When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. Thou art the type of those meek charities Which make up half the nobleness of life, Those cheap delights the wise Pluck from the dusty wayside of earth's strife: 50Words of frank cheer, glances of friendly eyes, Love's smallest coin, which yet to some may give The morsel that may keep alive A starving heart, and teach it to behold Some glimpse of God where all before was cold. 55Thy wingÈd seeds, whereof the winds take care, Are like the words of poet and of sage Which through the free heaven fare, And, now unheeded, in another age Take root, and to the gladdened future bear Bringing forth many a thought and deed, And, planted safely in the eternal sky, Bloom into stars which earth is guided by. Full of deep love thou art, yet not more full 65Than all thy common brethren of the ground, Wherein, were we not dull, Some words of highest wisdom might be found; Yet earnest faith from day to day may cull Some syllables, which, rightly joined, can make 70A spell to soothe life's bitterest ache, And ope Heaven's portals, which are near us still, Yea, nearer ever than the gates of Ill. How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! 75Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam Of Heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, Did we but pay the love we owe, On all these living pages of God's book. But let me read thy lesson right or no, Of one good gift from thee my heart is sure: Old I shall never grow 85While thou each, year dost come to keep me pure With legends of my childhood; ah, we owe Well more than half life's holiness to these Nature's first lowly influences, At thought of which the heart's glad doors burst ope, 90In dreariest days, to welcome peace and hope. |
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