And mark the locust, with quaint eyes,

Caper in his cloak of gray

Like a jester in disguise

Rattling by the dusty way.

I shall dream by upland fences,

Where the season's wealth condenses

Over many a weedy wreck,

Wild, uncared-for, desert places,

That sovereign Beauty loves to deck

With her softest, dearest graces.

There the long year dreams in quiet,

And the summer's strength runs riot.

Shall I not remember these,

Deep in winter reveries?

Berried brier and thistle-bloom,

And milkweed with its dense perfume;

Slender vervain towering up

In a many-branchèd cup,

Like a candlestick, each spire

[53]

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