COWSLIPS, sweetlips, smelling of the summer, Coming with the cuckoo, bringing in the May, Lifting heads in pastures, where the cattle spare you, Waiting to be gathered when the children come to play. Daffodils were golden, nodding in the uplands, Golden in the marshes flares the marigold: Softer hued the cowslips, winsomer and sweeter -- Sure the soul of flowers is the odour that they hold. Faint and soft and honied, fragrant as the kine's breath, Wafted airs of cowslips gladden London streets; Yellow-speckled handfuls, pennyworths of sunshine, To the dusty passers they are lavish of their sweets. Not from London barrows came our Irish cowslips, Tossed and cramped and prisoned all the night they've lain; But when morning reddened, lest they should feel strangers, Cowslips from each cutting kept a-nodding to the train. Kindly was the thought for children who this Maytime Weave no cowslip necklace, wind no cowslip ball; London parks are gay with beds of guarded blossom, But, to pluck and treasure -- not a cowslip in them all. Cowslips, sweetlips, smelling of the country, Coming with the cuckoo, bringing in the May, Straight and tall and slender, springing in the pastures, Waiting to be gathered when the children come to play. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EMILY SPARKS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO KNOW IN REVERIE THE ONLY PHENOMENOLOGY OF THE ABSOLUTE by HAYDEN CARRUTH A BIRTHDAY SONG by SIDNEY LANIER GUNS AS KEYS: AND THE GREAT GATE SWINGS by AMY LOWELL TWENTY-FOUR HOKKU ON A MODERN THEME by AMY LOWELL DOMESDAY BOOK: GOTTLIEB GERALD by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |