The Voice of the Grass 1439 THE VOICE OF THE GRASS HERE I come creeping, creeping everywhere; On the sunny hillside, Close by the noisy brook, In every shady nook, I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere; Where sit the agèd poor; Here where the children play, In the bright and merry May, I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; My pleasant face you'll meet, Silently creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; Nor hear my low sweet humming; And the glad morning light, I come quietly creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; In summer's pleasant hours; The gentle cow is glad, And the merry bird not sad, To see me creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; In the happy spring I'll come And deck your silent home,Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; To Him at whose command I beautify the land, Creeping, silently creeping everywhere. Sarah Roberts Boyle [1812-1869] A SONG THE GRASS SINGS THE violet is much too shy, The rose too little so; I think I'll ask the buttercup When winds go by, I'll nod to her And when the mower cuts us down, I smiling at the buttercup, She smiling at the grass. Charles G. Blanden [18 · THE WILD HONEYSUCKLE FAIR flower, that dost so comely grow, No roving foot shall crush thee here, The Ivy Green By Nature's self in white arrayed, Smit with those charms, that must decay, From morning suns and evening dews 1441 Philip Freneau [1752-1832] THE IVY GREEN Он, a dainty plant is the Ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed, To pleasure his dainty whim; And the mouldering dust that years have made Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy green. Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings, And a staunch old heart has he. How closely he twineth, how tight he clings To his friend the huge Oak Tree! And slily he traileth along the ground, Whole ages have fled and their works decayed, For the stateliest building man can raise Creeping on, where time has been, Charles Dickens [1812-1870] YELLOW JESSAMINE IN tangled wreaths, in clustered gleaming stars, In floating, curling sprays, The golden flower comes shining through the woods These February days; Forth go all hearts, all hands, from out the town, To bring her gayly in, This wild, sweet Princess of far Florida- The live-oaks smile to see her lovely face She hides behind the leaves her golden buds She curls a tendril, throws a spray, then flings And, bursting into thousand blossoms, swings Knapweed The dwarf-palmetto on his knees adores The lone pine-barren broods afar and sighs, The myrtle-thickets and ill-tempered thorns 1443 As through their leaves they feel the dainty touch The garden-roses wonder as they see The wreaths of golden bloom, Brought in from the far woods with eager haste The rich man's house, alike; the loaded hands Till, gay with flowers, the people come and go, The Southern land, well weary of its green The pine has tassels, and the orange-trees The spring has come has come to Florida, Constance Fenimore Woolson [1840-1894] KNAPWEED By copse and hedgerow, waste and wall, He thrusts his cushions red; O'er burdock rank, o'er thistles tall, Within, without, the strong leaves press, He screens the mossy stone, Lord of a narrow wilderness, Self-centred and alone. |