Life's lowly fields and woods,—with rifts,

Above, of heaven's Eden blue,—

By which the violet lifts

Its shy appeal; and holding up

Its chaliced gold, like some wild wine,

Along the hillside, cup on cup,

Blooms bright the celandine.

Where soft upon each flowering stock

The butterfly spreads damask wings;

And under grassy loam and rock

The cottage cricket sings.

Where overhead eve blooms with fire,

In which the new moon bends her bow,

And, arrow-like, one white star by her

Burns through the afterglow.

[Pg 8]

I care not, so the sesame

I find; the magic flower there,

Whose touch unseals each mystery

In water, earth and air.

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