Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the
Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it
droop and drop into the dust.
I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of
Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My father is a quiet man
With sober, steady ways;
For simile, a folded fan;
His nights are like his days.
I left you in the morning,
And in the morning glow,
You walked a way beside me
To make me sad to go.
When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down.
The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its
bagpipes among the bamboos.
Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows
Your lips are like a southern lily red,
Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night,
In which the brown bee buries deep its head,
When still the dawn's a silver sea of light.
As I wandered the forest,
The green leaves among,
I heard a Wild Flower
Singing a song.