THE flowers are blooming in the woods, the daffodils and kindred goods, the cowslip and the rose; and, as I do my office task, I wish that I could go and bask among such things as those. Oh, it would surely be sublime, upon a fragrant bank of thyme, for drowsy hours to rest; to revel in the wholesome breeze, and pluck the toadstools from the trees, and rob a hornet's nest. But now a farmer comes to town—a man whose residence is down where buds are bathed in dew; all day he sees the posies grow, all day he feels the zephyrs blow his flowing sideboards through. And when I'd talk, in burning words, of bumblebees and bats and birds, and other woodland things, he looks at me as though he feels that my fat head is full of wheels, and cranks and rusty springs. He interrupts my glad harangue, and says, "I do not give a dang for cowslip or for rose; I'm happy, when the sun goes down, if I can chase myself to town, to see the movie shows." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WOMAN, GALLUP, N.M. by KAREN SWENSON INSCRIPTIONS: 1. FOR A GROTTO by MARK AKENSIDE A PROPER NEW BALLAD [ENTITLED THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL] by RICHARD CORBET SONNET: 17. TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER by JOHN MILTON OSTRA by ELLEN FRANCES BALDWIN THE PACIFIC RAILWAY by C. R. BALLARD SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 31. A QUESTION by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TWELVE SONNETS: 5. GLAD SEASONS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |