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ARBOR DA V MANUAL. 
TO THE DANDELION. 
D EAR common flower, that grow’st beside the way, 
Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold 
First pledge of blithesome May, 
Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold. 
High-hearted buccaneers, o’erjoyed that they 
An Eldorado in the grass have found, 
Which not the rich earth’s ample round 
May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me 
Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. 
Gold such as thine ne’er drew the Spanish prow 
Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, 
Nor wrinkled the lean brow 
Of age, to rob the lover’s heart of ease; 
’Tis the Spring’s largess, which she scatters now 
To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, 
Though most hearts never understand 
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 song, 
Who, from the dark old tree 
Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 
And I, secure in childish piety, 
