The last of the daisies and coltsfoot and dandelions,
Are Matthew the Publican’s treasure, his gold and silver,
Which he throws at his Master’s feet, the feet he must follow
Down, down the Autumn, into the fogs—
To the end of the year.
THE ASCENSION DAY
So Thou hast left us and our meadows,
Lord, Who hast blessed us and our meadows—
Lord of the sorrel-hearted hay,
Lord of the pollened flowers of May.