FIELD FLOWERS 



the plough pursues them ; the gardener 

 hates them and has armed himself 

 against them with clashing weapons: 

 the spade and the rake, the hoe and the 

 scraper, the weeding-hook, the grub- 

 bing-axe. Along the highroads, their 

 last refuge, the passer-by crushes them, 

 the waggon bruises them. In spite of 

 all, they are there: permanent,assured, 

 abundant, peaceful; and not one but 

 answers the summons of the sun. They 

 follow the seasons without swerving by 

 an hour. They take no account of man, 

 who exhausts himself in conquering 

 them, and, so soon as he rests, they 

 spring up in his footsteps. They live 

 on, audacious, immortal, untamable. 

 They have peopled our flower-baskets 



C 79^ 



