I turned my steps to that remembered glade. I wandered listlessly, without a care; I went down by a track that someone made For love, for simple love of maidenhair. Beyond the clump and up the fern-bole stair Swell the damp scents that make The very nostrils quake, As the flushed spirit plunges in cool air. Not pegged, nor planned, nor measured is the way; It winds, like love through danger, to the falls Where I can rest and pay My love out to this day And stanch my dread in the creek's madrigals. Here, from on high the white clematis trails Down to a leaf in a rotting log entombed; Roses there were for Persian nightingales But these are the first flowers that ever bloomed! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEMANTICS OF FLOWERS ON MEMORIAL DAY by BOB HICOK CALLING DREAMS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE PASSING OF THE EX-SLAVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A PLANTATION BACCHANAL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TUNK (A LECTURE ON MODERN EDUCATION) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |