THE RHODORA: ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER? In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, Made the black water with their beauty gay; This charm is wasted on the earth and sky, Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being: Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew: But, in my simple ignorance, suppose The self-same Power that brought me there brought you. THE HUMBLE-BEE Burly, dozing humble-bee, Where thou art is clime for me. Let me chase thy waving lines; Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion! 5 DAYS Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day 10 Turned and departed silent. I, too late, Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn. |