Herb Yarrow Poem by Annie Adams Fields

EVERYWHERE the Yarrow grows!
Here and there the thistle blows,
Here and there the barberries,
By the brook the plumy fern;
We know where the lily is,
Where the dear wild roses burn:
But the Yarrow everywhere
Wanders on the common air.

No one need to search for thee:
Even now thy leaf I see
Peeping o'er my opened book,
Throwing so fair a shadow down,
So perfect, that I can but look,
And, looking, find new wonder crown
The bliss of beauty which before
Taught my spirit to adore.

In thy bitter odors blent
Health we find, not discontent;
In thy name a tender grief
For that love once drowned in Yarrow,
Stream that never gave relief
To the faithful 'winsome marrow.'
Bitter Yarrow! Flowing Yarrow!
Still lament thy winsome marrow!

Emblem of our equal land,
Where men and women helpful stand,
And love and labor, high and low;
Type of the low! Thou lovely plant!
Teach the proud-hearted how to know
The sacred worth of Nature's grant,
The strength of bitterness, and the sweet
Humility of beauty's feet.