Dandelion, dandelion,
Where's your cup of gold?
Where's your jacket green and trim
That you wore of old?
Then you nodded to the birds
In a jaunty way,
And you danced to every tune
The breeze could play.
Dandelion, dandelion,
Age comes creeping on,
And your wig is snowy white,
Golden locks are gone;
But you've had a merry time
Since your days began,
And even now you're a cheery,
Blithe old man.
—George Cooper.
[THE FARMER'S WHEAT FIELD]
| stalk | threshed | breeze | flour |
| plump | healthy | bearded | grain |
| forth | neighbor | thousand | cheer |
here was once a stalk of wheat that grew in the middle of a field. It was very tall and it lifted its head high and nodded in the wind.
All around it were a thousand other stalks not quite so tall. Every one was looking up at the sun and bowing to its neighbor, and saying, "Good morning."
"How bright and golden we are!" said the tall stalk; "and how beautiful we look, standing together like a great army of soldiers! The sun shines to cheer us. And when the gentle rains fall, how sweet and refreshing they are!"