The Daffodil sang: “Darling of the sun
Am I, am I, that wear
His color everwhere.”
The Violet pleaded soft, in undertone:
“Am I less perfect made?
Or hidden in the shade
So close and deep, that heaven may not see
Its own fair hue in me? ”
The Rose stood up, full-blown-
Right royal as a Queen upon her throne:
“Nay, but I reign alone, ”
She said, “with all the hearts for my very own.”
One whispered, with faint flush, not far away:
“I am the eye of the Day,
And all men love me; ” and, with drowsy sighs,
A Lotus, from the still pond where she lay,
Breathed: “I am precious balm for weary eyes.”
Only the fair Field-Lily, slim and tall,
Spake not. For all;
Spake not and did not stir,
Lapsed in some far and tender memory.
Softly I questioned her:
“And what of thee? ”
And the winds were lulled about the bended head,
And the warm sunlight swathed her as in flame,
While the awed answer came:
“Hath He not said? ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem