Dear common flower, that grow’st beside the way,
    Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
      First pledge of blithesome May,
    Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold,
    High-hearted buccaneers, o’er joyed that they 5
    An Eldorado in the grass have found,
      Which not the rich earth’s ample round. 
    May match in wealth—­thou art more dear to me
    Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be.

    Gold such as thine ne’er drew the Spanish prow 10
    Through the primeval hush of Indian seas,
      Nor wrinkled the lean brow
    Of age, to rob the lover’s heart of ease;
    ’T is the Spring’s largess, which she scatters now
    To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, 15
      Though most hearts never understand
    To take it at God’s value, but pass by
    The offered wealth with unrewarded eye.

    Thou art my tropics and mine Italy;
    To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime; 20
      The eyes thou givest me
    Are in the heart, and heed not space or time: 
    Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee
    Feels a more summer-like, warm ravishment
      In the white lily’s breezy tent, 25
    His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first
    From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.

    Then think I of deep shadows on the grass,—­
    Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,
      Where, as the breezes pass, 30
    The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways,—­
    Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,
    Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue
      That from the distance sparkle through
    Some woodland gap, and of a sky above, 35
    Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move.

    My childhood’s earliest thoughts are linked with thee;
    The sight of thee calls back the robin’s song,
      Who, from the dark old tree
    Beside the door, sang clearly all day long, 40
    And I, secure in childish piety,
    Listened as if I heard an angel sing
      With news from Heaven, which he could bring
    Fresh every day to my untainted ears,
    When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. 45

    Thou art the type of those meek charities
    Which make up half the nobleness of life,
      Those cheap delights the wise
    Pluck from the dusty wayside of earth’s strife: 
    Words of frank cheer, glances of friendly eyes, 50
    Love’s smallest coin, which yet to some may give
      The morsel that may keep alive
    A starving heart, and teach it to behold
    Some glimpse of God where all before was cold.