RUSHES

Rushes by the river

Rear their heads of brown;

In the wind they quiver

With a warning frown.

“Do you want them, Fairest?

At thy feet they lie;

They were guarding, Rarest,—

Sentinels!— They die.”

Wild things are not willing

To be captive ta'en:

“Cutting's almost killing,”

Is their sad refrain.

“Rushes in their beauty

Greenly-proud should stand:

Guarding is their duty —

River from the land.”