THE STUDY OF THE DANDELION. 35 



To take it at God's value, but pass by 

 The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. 



Thou art my tropics and mine Italy ; 

 To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime ; 



The eyes thou givest me 



Are in the heart, and heed not space or time : 

 Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee 

 Feels a more Summer-like, warm ravishment 



In the white lily's breezy tent, 

 His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first 

 From the dark green thy yellow circles burst. 



Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, 

 Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, 



Where, as the breezes pass, 

 The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, 

 Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, 

 Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue 



That from the distance sparkle through 

 Some woodland gap, and of a sky above 

 Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. 



My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee ; 

 The sight of thee calls back the robin's sqng, 



Who from the dark old tree 

 Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 

 And I, secure in childish piety, 

 Listened as if I heard an angel sing 



With news from Heaven, which he did bring 

 Fresh every day to my untainted ears, 

 When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 



Thou art the type of those meek charities 

 Which make up half the nobleness of life, 



Those cheap delights the wise 

 Pluck from the dusty wayside of earth's strife ; 

 Words of frank cheer, glances of friendly eyes, 



