TO HILDA OF HER ROSES
Enough has been said about roses
To fill thirty thick volumes;
There are as many songs about roses
As there are roses in the world
That includes Mexico … the Azores … Oregon…
It is a pity your roses
Are too late for Omar…
It is a pity Keats has gone…
Yet there must be something left to say
Of flowers like these!
Adventurers,
They pushed their way
Through dewy tunnels of the June night
Now they confer….
A little tremulous….
Dazzled by the yellow sea-beach of morning
If Herrick would tiptoe back…
If Blake were to look this way
Ledwidge, even!
GRACE HAZARD CONKLING
DANDELION
O Little soldier with the golden helmet,
What are you guarding on my lawn?
You with your green gun
And your yellow beard,
Why do you stand so stiff?
There is only the grass to fight!
HILDA CONKLING
RED ROOSTER
Red rooster in your gray coop,
O stately creature with tail-feathers red and blue,
Yellow and black,
You have a comb gay as a parade
On your head:
You have pearl trinkets
On your feet:
The short feathers smooth along your back
Are the dark color of wet rocks,
Or the rippled green of ships
When I look at their sides through water.
I don’t know how you happened to be made
So proud, so foolish,
Wearing your coat of many colors,
Shouting all day long your crooked words,
Loud… sharp… not beautiful!
HILDA CONKLING