Flower of Song 53 



High-lying, sea-blown stretches of green turf, 

 Wind-bitten close, salt-colored by the sea, 

 Low curve on curve spread far to the cool sky, 

 And curving over them as long they lie, 

 Beds of wild Fleur-de-lys. 



Wide-growing, self-sown, stealing near and far, 

 Breaking the green like islands in the seas; 

 Great stretches at your feet, and spots that bend 

 Dwindling over the horizon's end, 

 Wild beds of Fleur-de-lys. 



The light keen wind streams on across the lifts, 

 Their wind of western springtime by the sea; 

 The close turf smiles unmoved, but over her 

 Is the far-lying rustle and sweet stir 

 In beds of Fleur-de-lys. 



And here and there across the smooth, low grass 

 Tall maidens wander thinking of the sea; 

 And bend, and bend, with light robes blown aside, 

 For the blue lily flowers that bloom so wide, 

 The beds of Fleur-de-lys. 



Charlotte Perkins Oilman: Bed of Fleur-de-lys, 



No unresponsive soul had heard 



That plaintive note's appealing, 



So deeply 'Home, Sweet Home' had stirred 



The hidden founts of feeling. 



Or Blue or Gray, the soldier sees, 

 As by the wand of fairy, 

 The cottage 'neath the live-oak trees, 

 The cabin by the prairie. 



