Foreword To Weeds By The Wall

In the first rare spring of song,     In my heart's young hours, In my youth 't was thus I sang,     Choosing 'mid the flowers: - "Fair the Dandelion is,     But for me too lowly; And the winsome Violet     Is, forsooth, too holy. 'But the Touchmenot?' Go to!     What! a face that's speckled Like a common milking-maid's,     Whom the sun hath freckled. Then the Wild-Rose is a flirt;     And the trillium Lily, In her spotless gown, 's a prude,     Sanctified and silly. By her cap the Columbine,     To my mind, 's too merry; Gossips, I would sooner wed     Some plebeian Berry. And the shy Anemone -     Well, her face shows sorrow; Pale, goodsooth! alive to-day,     Dead and gone to-morrow. Then that bold-eyed, buxom wench,     Big and blond and lazy, - She's been chosen overmuch! -     Sirs, I mean the Daisy. Pleasant persons are they all,     And their virtues many; Faith I know but good of each,     And naught ill of any. But I choose a May-apple;     She shall be my Lady; Blooming, hidden and refined,     Sweet in places shady." In my youth 'twas thus I sang,     In my heart's young hours, In the first rare spring of song,     Choosing 'mid the flowers. So I hesitated when     Time alone was reckoned By the hours that Fancy smiled,     Love and Beauty beckoned. Hard it was for me to choose     From the flowers that flattered; And the blossom that I chose     Soon lay dead and scattered. Hard I found it then, ah, me!     Hard I found the choosing; Harder, harder since I've found,     Ah, too hard the losing. Haply had I chosen then     From the weeds that tangle Wayside, woodland and the wall     Of my garden's angle, I had chosen better, yea,     For these later hours - Longer last the weeds, and oft     Sweeter are than flowers.