WILD FLOWERS by E. Matheson

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jul 9, 1896

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 22, No. 27.

WILD FLOWERS.

By E. Matheson

BY E. MATHESON.

O, BEAUTIFUL blossoms, pure and sweet, Agleam with dew from the country ways, To me, at work in a city street, You bring fair visions of bygone days— Glad days, when I hid in a mist of green To watch spring’s delicate buds unfold, And all the riches I cared to glean Were daisy silver and buttercup gold!

'Tis true you come of a lowly race, Nursed by the sunshine, fed by the showers, And yet you are heirs to a nameless grace Which I fail to find in my hothouse flowers, And you breathe on me with your honeyed lips, Till in thought I stand on the wind-swept fells, Where the brown bees hum o’er the ferny dips, Or ring faint peals on the heather bells.

I close my eyes on the crowded street, I shut my ears to the city’s roar, And am out in the open with flying feet— Off, off to your emerald haunts once more! But the harsh wheels grate on the stones below, And a sparrow chirps at the murky lane, And my bright dreams fade in an overflow Of passionate longing and tender pain. —Chambers’ Journal.