The Dandelion

Bless thee, darling Dandelion

            Forward in the bladed field

            Thrust, as if a starry shield

Fit for the bright arm of Orion;

            Bless thee, tropic wealth of gold,

Sowing our hills of wind and cold!

 

Memories of early childhood

            Flock like bees around thy heart,

            Their own instincts their sole chart

Over the green plains and the wildwood, –

            Happy memories all, through tears

Blinded some in their passing years.

 

And the thoughts which in them center

            Gather more sweets than thy bees,

            While the dust of hopes’ decrease,

Clinging to their wings as they enter,

            Is sown far, to re-crease

Brighter bloom than their first estate.

 

Then like thee it lay in sunlight

            And the shower alike, unhurt;

            Like thee, if in darkness girt,

Fed my spirit upon its own light,

            Folded in to its clear deep,

Though by my sobbing, rocked asleep.

 

If I twine[?] thy stem so slender,

            How life threads curled back, and prest

            Round thy rich heart’s verdant vest!

So our sympathies warm and tender,

            Wounded, to their home re-fly,

Withering there till the torn heart die!

 

Craesus of the vernal Flora,

            How thy aureate treasures pale

            Every bloom of hill and vale,

Till the proudest of them all might borrow

            Of thy regal stores profuse,

Making them richer for the use.

 

Streams thy golden lips are bent to,

            Banks thy yellow glory lines,

            Are my right Peruvian mines,

Are my fortunate Sacramento;

            There I walk secure from dread,

King of a wealth uncoveted.

 

Sooth, thou art no less a Solon

            Than a Craesus, royal Flower!

            Mindful in thy glory’s hour

Of the darkness that shall roll on;

            Winging well thy new life’s germ

When thy full bloom fades to its term.

 

Half the glory, half the science

            Of thy little life, would be

            Wealth and wit enough for me,

So to bid life and death defiance,

            Making storms that tear my heart

Scatter to sow its vital part.