Quick thou comest, strong and free, Elaine Goodale Eastman [1863 LESSONS FROM THE GORSE MOUNTAIN gorses, ever-golden, Cankered not the whole year long! Like your thorny blooms, and so Up the hill-side of this life, as bleak as where ye grow? Mountain blossoms, shining blossoms, Do ye teach us to be glad When no summer can be had, Blooming in our inward bosoms? Ye whom God preserveth still, Tokens to the wintry earth that Beauty liveth still! Mountain gorses, do ye teach us From that academic chair Canopied with azure air, That the wisest word man reaches Is the humblest he can speak? Ye, who live on mountain peak, Yet live low along the ground, beside the grasses meek! Mountain gorses, since Linnæus Knelt beside you on the sod, For your beauty thanking God,- For your teaching, ye should see us Bowing in prostration new! Whence arisen,-if one or two Drops be on our cheeks-O world, they are not tears but dew. Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806–1861] The Voice of the Grass 1487 THE VOICE OF THE GRASS HERE I come creeping; creeping everywhere; By the dusty roadside, On the sunny hillside, Close by the noisy brook, In every shady nook, Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere; Where sit the agèd poor; Here where the children play, In the bright and merry May, I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; My pleasant face you'll meet, Silently creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; Nor hear my low sweet humming; And the glad morning light, I come quietly creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; In summer's pleasant hours; And the merry bird not sad, To see me creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; In the happy spring I'll come And deck your silent home.- Here I come creeping, creeping everywher.. Most joyfully Lraise To Him at whose command I beautify the land, Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. Sarah Roberts Boyle (1812-184 A SONG THE GRASS SINGS THE violet is much too shy, The rose too little so; I think I'll ask the buttercup When winds go by, I'll nod to her And I will kiss her on the cheek And when the mower cuts us down, I smiling at the buttercup, She smiling at the grass. Charles G. Blanden [1857– THE WILD HONEYSUCKLE FAIR flower, that dost so comely grow, No roving foot shall crush thee here, The Ivy Green By Nature's self in white arrayed, Smit with those charms, that must decay, From morning suns and evening dews If nothing once, you nothing lose, The frail duration of a flower. 1489 Philip Freneau [1752–1832] THE IVY GREEN Он, a dainty plant is the Ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim; And the mouldering dust that years have made Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy green. Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, And a staunch old heart has he. How closely he twineth, how tight he clings To his friend the huge Oak Tree! And slily he traileth along the ground, Whole ages have fled and their works decayed, For the stateliest building man can raise Creeping on, where time has been, Charles Dickens [1812-1870] YELLOW JESSAMINE IN tangled wreaths, in clustered gleaming stars, In floating, curling sprays, The golden flower comes shining through the woods These February days; Forth go all hearts, all hands, from out the town, To bring her gayly in, This wild, sweet Princess of far Florida- The live-oaks smile to see her lovely face She hides behind the leaves her golden buds She curls a tendril, throws a spray, then flings And, bursting into thousand blossoms, swings |