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 theyAn Eldorado in the grass have found,Which not the rich earth’s ample roundMay match in wealth—thou art more dear to meThan all the prouder summer-blooms may be.

Gold such as thine ne’er drew the Spanish prowThrough the primeval hush of Indian seas,Nor wrinkled the lean browOf age, to rob the lover’s heart of ease;’T is the Spring’s largess, which she scatters nowTo rich and poor alike, with lavish hand,Though most hearts never understandTo take it at God’s value, but pass byThe offered wealth with unrewarded eye.

My childhood’s earliest thoughts are linked with thee; —The sight of thee calls back the robin's song,Who, from the dark old treeBeside the door, sang clearly all day long;And I, secure in childish piety,Listened as if I heard an angel singWith news from heaven, which he could bringFresh 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 deemMore sacredly of every human heart,Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleamOf heaven, and could some wondrous secret show,Did we but pay the love we owe,And with a child’s undoubting wisdom lookOn all these living pages of God’s book.