| |
| 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, | 5 |
| As astrologers and seers of eld; | |
| Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, | |
| Like the burning stars which they beheld. | |
| |
| Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, | |
| God hath written in those stars above; | 10 |
| But not less in the bright flowerets under us | |
| Stands the revelation of his love. | |
| |
| Bright and glorious is that revelation, | |
| Writ all over this great world of ours, | |
| Making evident our own creation, | 15 |
| In these stars of earth, these golden flowers. | |
| |
| And the poet, faithful and far-seeing, | |
| Sees alike, in stars and flowers, a part | |
| Of the self-same, universal being | |
| Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. | 20 |
| |
| Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, | |
| Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, | |
| Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, | |
| Buds that open only to decay; | |
| |
| Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, | 25 |
| Flaunting gayly in the golden light; | |
| Large desires, with most uncertain issues, | |
| Tender wishes, blossoming at night; | |
| |
| These in flowers and men are more than seeming; | |
| Workings are they of the self-same powers | 30 |
| Which the poet, in no idle dreaming, | |
| Seeth in himself and in the flowers. | |
| |
| Everywhere about us are they glowing— | |
| Some, like stars, to tell us Spring is born; | |
| Others, their blue eyes with tears o’erflowing, | 35 |
| Stand, like Ruth, amid the golden corn; | |
| |
| Not alone in Spring’s armorial bearing, | |
| And in Summer’s green emblazoned field, | |
| But in arms of brave old Autumn’s wearing, | |
| In the centre of his brazen shield; | 40 |
| |
| Not alone in meadows and green alleys, | |
| On the mountain-top, and by the brink | |
| Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, | |
| Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink; | |
| |
| Not alone in her vast dome of glory, | 45 |
| Not on graves of bird and beast alone, | |
| But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, | |
| On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone; | |
| |
| In the cottage of the rudest peasant; | |
| In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, | 50 |
| Speaking of the Past unto the Present, | |
| Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers. | |
| |
| In all places, then, and in all seasons, | |
| Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, | |
| Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, | 55 |
| How akin they are to human things. | |
| |
| And with childlike, credulous affection, | |
| We behold their tender buds expand— | |
| Emblems of our own great resurrection, | |
| Emblems of the bright and better land. | 60 |
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