The First Flowers - An 1857 Nebraska Poem
By J.G.W.
- For ages, on our river-borders,
- These tassels in their tawny bloom,
- And willowy stubs of downy silver,
- Have prophesized of Spring to come.
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- For ages have the unbound waters
- Smiled on them from their pebbly hem,
- And the clear carol of the robin,
- And song of the blue-bird welcomed them.
-
- But never yet, from smiling river,
- or song of early bird, have they
- Been greeted with a gladder welcome
- Than whispers from my heart to-day.
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- They break the spell of cold and darkness,
- The weary watch of sleepless pain;
- And from my heart, as from the river,
- The ice of Winter melts again.
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- Thanks, Mary! for this wild-wood taken
- Of Freya's footsteps drawing near;
- Almost, as in the rune of Asgard,
- The growing of the grass I hear.
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- It is as if the pine-trees called me
- From celled room and silent books,
- To see this dance of woodland shadows,
- And hear the song of April brooks!
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- As, in the old Testament ballad
- Of Odenwald, live bird and tree,
- Forever live in song and beauty,
- So link my thoughts these flowers and thee.
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- The small bird's track, the tiny rain-drop,
- Forever make the primal rock;
- Who knows but that these idle verses
- Many leave some trace by Artichoke?
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- And maidens in the far-off twilights
- Repeat my words to breeze and stream,
- And wonder if the old-time Mary
- Were real or the singer's dream!
April 23, 1857. Farmer's Cabinet 55(38): 1. From the National Era; also May 14, 1857 in the Bellevue Gazette 1(28): 1.