| |
| WHEN the wayside tangles blaze | |
| In the low September sun, | |
| When the flowers of Summer days | |
| Droop and wither, one by one, | |
| Reaching up through bush and brier, | 5 |
| Sumptuous brow and heart of fire, | |
| Flaunting high its wind-rocked plume, | |
| Brave with wealth of native bloom,— | |
| Goldenrod! | |
| |
| When the meadow, lately shorn, | 10 |
| Parched and languid, swoons with pain, | |
| When her life-blood, night and morn, | |
| Shrinks in every throbbing vein, | |
| Round her fallen, tarnished urn | |
| Leaping watch-fires brighter burn; | 15 |
| Royal arch o’er Autumn’s gate, | |
| Bending low with lustrous weight,— | |
| Goldenrod! | |
| |
| In the pasture’s rude embrace, | |
| All o’errun with tangled vines, | 20 |
| Where the thistle claims its place, | |
| And the straggling hedge confines, | |
| Bearing still the sweet impress | |
| Of unfettered loveliness, | |
| In the field and by the wall, | 25 |
| Binding, clasping, crowning all,— | |
| Goldenrod! | |
| |
| Nature lies dishevelled, pale, | |
| With her feverish lips apart,— | |
| Day by day the pulses fail, | 30 |
| Nearer to her bounding heart; | |
| Yet that slackened grasp doth hold | |
| Store of pure and genuine gold; | |
| Quick thou comest, strong and free, | |
| Type of all the wealth to be,— | 35 |
| Goldenrod! | |
| |
