These in flowers and men are more than seeming,
Workings are they of the selfsame powers,
Which the poet, in no idle dreaming,
Seeth in himself and in the flowers.
Everywhere about us are they glowing,
Some like stars to tell us Spring is born:
Others, their blue eyes with tears o’erflowing,
Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn.
Not alone in Spring’s armorial bearing,
And in summer’s green-emblazoned field,