Homeward through flowers: she speaks.

O simple offerings of the common hills;

Love's lowly names, that make you trebly sweet!

One Johnny-jump-up, but an apron-full

Of starry crowfoot, making mossy dells

Dim with heaven's morning blue; dew-dripping plumes

Of waxen “dog-mouths”; red the tippling cups

Of gypsy-lilies all along the creek,

Where dull the freckled silence sleeps, and dark

The water runs when, at high noon, the cows

Wade knee-deep and the heat hums drowsy with

The drone of dizzy flies;— one Samson-flower

Blue-streaked and crystal as a summer's cloud;

White violets, milk-weed, scarlet Indian-pinks,

All fragile-scented and familiar as

Pink baby faces and blue infant eyes.

O fair suggestions of a life more fair!

Love's fragrant whispers of an untaught faith,

High habitations‘ neath a godlier blue

Beyond the sin of Earth, in heavens prepared —

What is it?— halcyon to utter calm,

Faith? such as wrinkled wisdom, doubting, has

Yearned for and sought in miser'd lore of worlds,

And vainly?— Love?— Oh, have I learned to live?