Children of Dream
The black ash grows in the swampy ground,
The white ash in the dry;
The thrush he holds to the woodland bound,
The hawk to the open sky.
The trout he runs to the mountain brook,
The swordfish keeps the sea;
The brown bear knows where the blueberry grows.
The clover calls the bee.
The locust sings in the August noon,
The frog in the April night;
The iris loves the meadow-land,
The laurel loves the height.
And each will hold his tenure old
Of earth and sun and stream,
For all are creatures of desire
And children of a dream.
Roadside Flowers
We are the roadside flowers,
Straying from garden grounds,—
Lovers of idle hours,
Breakers of ordered bounds.
If only the earth will feed us,
If only the wind be kind,
We blossom for those who need us,
The stragglers left behind.
And lo, the Lord of the Garden,
He makes his sun to rise,
And his rain to fall with pardon
On our dusty paradise.