A Chanted Calendar 1413 I love, I love them so-my green things growing! And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing But if I must be gathered for the angel's sowing, Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887] A CHANTED CALENDAR From "Balder" FIRST came the primrose, Like a maiden looking forth And saw the storms go by. Then came the wind-flower So tottered she, Dishevelled in the wind. Then came the daisies, On the first of May, Like a bannered show's advance While the crowd runs by the way, With ten thousand flowers about them they came trooping through the fields. As a happy people come, So came they, As a happy people come When the war has rolled away, With dance and tabor, pipe and drum, And all make holiday. Then came the cowslip, Like a dancer in the fair, She spread her little mat of green, And on it danced she. With a fillet bound about her brow, A golden fillet round her brow, And rubies in her hair. Sydney Dobell [1824-1874] FLOWERS SPAKE full well, in language quaint and olden Stars they are, wherein we read our history, Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, Bright and glorious is that revelation, In these stars of earth, these golden flowers. Flowers And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing, Which is throbbing in his brain and heart. Gorgeous flowerets in the sunlight shining, Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, 1415 These in flowers and men are more than seeming; Seeth in himself and in the flowers. Everywhere about us are they glowing, Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, Not alone in meadows and green alleys, Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys, Not alone in her vast dome of glory, In the cottage of the rudest peasant; In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things. And with childlike, credulous affection, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] FLOWERS I WILL not have the mad Clytie, Whose head is turned by the sun; The tulip is a courtly quean, The violet is a nun;— The pea is but a wanton witch, And clasps her rings on every hand; Nor will I dreary rosemarye, That always mourns the dead; But I will woo the dainty rose, With her cheeks of tender red. The lily is all in white, like a saint, And so is no mate for me; And the daisy's cheek is tipped with a blush, Almond Blossom Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves, For fairest of all is she. 1417 Thomas Hood [1799-1845] A CONTEMPLATION UPON FLOWERS You come abroad, and make a harmless show, You are not proud: you know your birth: You do obey your months and times, but I My fate would know no Winter, never die, O that I could my bed of earth but view O teach me to see Death and not to fear, How often have I seen you at a bier, And there look fresh and spruce! You fragrant flowers! then teach me, that my breath Like yours may sweeten and perfume my death. Henry King [1592-1669] ALMOND BLOSSOM BLOSSOM of the almond trees, |