To a Dandelion

Dear little dandelion that skirts the wayside road
With yellow gold within the reach of all,
That fills the air with snow-white seedling down
Upon the first days of the harvest fall.
How oft I cried aloud in happy mirth,
Thy golden Eldorado wealth to see.
In childhood years a bloom more dear to me
Than all the gaudy flowers that deck the earth.

Oft with delight I saw thy sunny birth,
And ran to find thy gold along the way;
Or joyously I told the hour of day
When June-time changed thy locks to snowy white,
And breezes gaily bore them far away.
Now, in these later years within the night,
When I am lying wide-eyed and awake,
And loons are crying far across the lake,
I seem again those golden blooms to see;
The childhood’s wealth of gold I found and lost
When years had filled my mind with price and cost.
Then, oh, I know again that dearer still to me
Are those bright flowers of old.
More precious now than even mankind’s gold,
Those flowers I lost and found again, have grown to be.

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