How they come again—those rambling roads;
And the weeds' wild jewels glowing there.
Richer than a Paradise of flowers
Was that bit of pasture growing there.
Weeds—the very names call up those faint
Half-forgotten smells and cries again ...
Weeds—like some old charm, I say them over,
And the rolling Berkshires rise again:
Basil, Boneset, Toadflax, Tansy,
Weeds of every form and fancy;
Milk-weed, Mullein, Loose-strife, Jewel-weed,
Mustard, Thimble-weed, Tear-thumb (a cruel weed).
Clovers in all sorts—Nonesuch, Melilot;
Staring Buttercups, a bold and yellow lot.
Daisies rioting about the place
With Black-eyed Susan and Queen Anne's Lace....
Names—they blossom into colored hills;
Hills whose rousing beauty flows to me ...
And with all its soundless, purple trumpets,
Lo, the Joe-Pyeweed still blows to me!
Louis Untermeyer
TO A DAISY
Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide
Like all created things, secrets from me,
And stand a barrier to eternity.
And I, how can I praise thee well and wide
From where I dwell—upon the hither side?
Thou little veil for so great mystery,
When shall I penetrate all things and thee,
And then look back? For this I must abide,
Till thou shalt grow and fold and be unfurled
Literally between me and the world.
Then I shall drink from in beneath a spring,
And from a poet's side shall read his book.
O daisy mine, what will it be to look
From God's side even of such a simple thing?