Читать книгу Weeds by the Wall: Verses - Cawein Madison Julius - Страница 1

In the first rare spring of song,

In my heart's young hours,

In my youth 't was thus I sang,

Choosing 'mid the flowers: —

"Fair the Dandelion is,

But for me too lowly;

And the winsome Violet

Is, forsooth, too holy.

'But the Touchmenot?' Go to!

What! a face that's speckled

Like a common milking-maid's,

Whom the sun hath freckled.

Then the Wild-Rose is a flirt;

And the trillium Lily,

In her spotless gown, 's a prude,

Sanctified and silly.

By her cap the Columbine,

To my mind, 's too merry;

Gossips, I would sooner wed

Some plebeian Berry.

And the shy Anemone —

Well, her face shows sorrow;

Pale, goodsooth! alive to-day,

Dead and gone to-morrow.

Then that bold-eyed, buxom wench,

Big and blond and lazy, —

She's been chosen overmuch! —

Sirs, I mean the Daisy.

Pleasant persons are they all,

And their virtues many;

Faith I know but good of each,

And naught ill of any.

But I choose a May-apple;

She shall be my Lady;

Blooming, hidden and refined,

Sweet in places shady."

In my youth 'twas thus I sang,

In my heart's young hours,

In the first rare spring of song,

Choosing 'mid the flowers.

So I hesitated when

Time alone was reckoned

By the hours that Fancy smiled,

Love and Beauty beckoned.

Hard it was for me to choose

From the flowers that flattered;

And the blossom that I chose

Soon lay dead and scattered.

Hard I found it then, ah, me!

Hard I found the choosing;

Harder, harder since I've found,

Ah, too hard the losing.

Haply had I chosen then

From the weeds that tangle

Wayside, woodland and the wall

Of my garden's angle,

I had chosen better, yea,

For these later hours —

Longer last the weeds, and oft

Sweeter are than flowers.