Hilda Conkling

((1910–1986) / New York)

First Songs - Poem by Hilda Conkling


ROSY plum-tree, think of me
When Spring comes down the world!


There's dozens full of dandelions
Down in the field:
Little gold plates,
Little gold dishes in the grass.
I cannot count them,
But the fairies know every one.


Oh wrinkling star, wrinkling up so wise,
When you go to sleep do you shut your eyes?


The red moon comes out in the night.
When I'm asleep, the moon comes pattering up
Into the trees.
Then I peep out my window
To watch the moon go by.


Sparkle up, little tired flower
Leaning in the grass!
Did you find the rain of night
Too heavy to hold?


The garden is full of flowers
All dancing round and round.
They dance round and round
And they bow down and down
To a black-eyed daisy.


There is going to be the sound of bells
And murmuring.
This is the brook dance:
There is going to be sound of voices,
And the smallest will be the brook:
It is the song of water
You will hear,
A little winding song
To dance to . . .


Blossoms in the growing tree,
Why don't you speak to me?
I want to grow like you,
Smiling . . . smiling . . .


If I find a moon,
I will sing a moon-song.
If I find a flower,
What song shall I sing,
Rose-song or clover-song?


The blossoms will be gone in the winter:
Oh apples, come for the June!
Can you come, will you bloom?
Will you stay till the cold?

XI (To her Mother)

I will sing you a song,
With love in it,
(How I love you!)
And a rose to swing in the wind,
The wind that swings roses!


Will you love me to-morrow after next,
As if I had a bird's way of singing?

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 30, 2016

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