I'm all alive, and ready to shoot,
Should the spring of the year
Come dancing here--
But I pity the flower without branch or root."
"You think I am dead,"
A soft voice said,
"Because not a branch or root I own.
I never have died,
But close I hide
In a plumy seed that the wind has sown.
Patient I wait through the long winter hours;
You will see me again--
I shall laugh at you then,
Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers."
_Edith M. Thomas._
LITTLE DANDELION
Little bud Dandelion
Hears from her nest,
"Merry heart, starry eye,
Wake from your rest!"
Wide ope the emerald lids;
Robin's above;
Wise little Dandelion
Smiles at his love.
Cold lie the daisy-banks,
Clad but in green,
Where in the Mays agone
Bright hues were seen.
Wild pinks are slumbering,
Violets delay--
True little Dandelion
Greeteth the May.
Meek little Dandelion
Groweth more fair,
Till dries the amber dew
Out from her hair.
High rides the thirsty sun,
Fiercely and high,--
Faint little Dandelion
Closeth her eye.
Dead little Dandelion,
In her white shroud,
Heareth the angel-breeze
Call from the cloud.
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