Give the children holidays, (And let these be jolly days), Spring; Dwell, but with each other keep society: Grant freedom to the children in this joyous Are ready to be woven into garlands for the good. Better men, hereafter, Shall we have, for laughter Or, upon Summer earth, To die, in virgin worth; Or to be strewn before the bride, Freely shouted to the woods, till all the echoes | And the bridegroom, by her side. ring. Send the children up To the high hill's top, Or deep into the wood's recesses, To woo Spring's caresses. See, the birds together, In this splendid weather, Come forth on Sundays; Come forth on Mondays; Come forth on any day; Children, come forth to play: Worship the God of Nature in your childhood; Worship God (for he is God of birds as well as Worship Him in the wildwood; men): And each feathered neighbor Enters on his labor, Worship Him amidst the flowers; In the greenwood bowers; Sparrow, robin, redpoll, finch, the linnet, and the Your voices in His praise! wren. As the year advances, Trees their naked branches Clothe, and seek your pleasure in their green ap parel. Insect and wild beast Keep no Lent, but feast; Spring breathes upon the earth, and their joy's increased, And the rejoicing birds break forth in one loud carol. Ah, come and woo the Spring; List to the birds that sing; Pluck the primroses; pluck the violets; Sing their praises; Friendship with the flowers some noble thought begets. Come forth and gather these sweet elves, (More witching are they than the fays of old), Come forth and gather them yourselves; Learn of these gentle flowers whose worth is more than gold. Come, come into the wood; Pierce into the bowers Of these gentle flowers, EDWARD YOUL. The Broom Flower. OH the Broom, the yellow Broom, And dear it is on summer days I know the realms where people say I know where they shine out like suns, I know where ladies live enchained But ne'er was flower so fair as this, It groweth on its nodding stem And all about my mother's door Shine out its glittering bushes, For dull the eye, the heart is dull, Amid all beauty beautiful, Thy tender blossoms are, How delicate thy gauzy frill, How rich thy branchy stem, How soft thy voice when woods are still, While silent showers are falling slow, A sweet air lifts the little bough, But thou, wild bramble, back dost bring, The fresh green days of life's fair Spring, To gad with thee the woodlands o'er, The Brier. EBENEZER ELLIOTT. My brier that smelledst sweet, Ran through thy quiet veins; Alone thou leavest me, and nought of thine remains. What! hath no poet's lyre O'er thee, sweet-breathing brier, Hung fondly, ill or well? And yet, methinks, with thee A poet's sympathy, Whether in weal or woe, in life or death, might dwell. Hard usage both must bear, Few bosoms cherish you; From life, you then are prized; thus prized are poets too. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. To the Dandelion. DEAR common flower, that grow'st beside the way, Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold! First pledge of blithesome May, Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed 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 ine Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with O vanished Joy! O Love, that art no more, thee; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, Beside the door, sang clearly all day long; With news from heaven, which he did bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears, When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam Let my vexed spirit be! O violet! thy odor through my brain WILLIAM WETMORE STORY. The Rose. Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me When I resemble her to thee, As fair fingers healed Knights from the olden field, Nor is known the moment green when our tips We hold cups of mightiest force to give the wildest appear. calm. We thread the earth in silence, In silence build our bowers Even the terror, poison, Hath its plea for blooming; And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh a-top, Life it gives to reverent lips, though death to the sweet flowers. presuming. Round some idol waits, as on their lord the And the flowers are true things—yet no fables Which the old Greek mountain dreamt, upon nights Yet they grew not, like the flowers, by every old divine. To expound such wonder Human speech avails not, Yet there dies no poorest weed, that such a glory exhales not. Think of all these treasures, Matchless works and pleasures, Every one a marvel, more than thought can say. Then think in what bright showers We thicken fields and bowers, pathway. Grossest hand can test us, Fools may prize us never, Yet we rise, and rise, and rise-marvels sweet for ever. Who shall say that flowers Dress not heaven's own bowers? Who its love, without us, can fancy- or sweet floor? Who shall even dare To say we sprang not there, And with what heaps of sweetness half stifle wanton And came not down, that Love might bring one May; Think of the mossy forests By the bee-birds haunted, piece of heaven the more? O pray believe that angels From these blue dominions And all those Amazonian plains, lone lying as Brought us in their white laps down, 'twixt their enchanted. golden pinions. Flowers. LEIGH HUNT. SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, Like the burning stars which they beheld. |