William Edward Hunt
Golden-Rod
BESHREW the coinëd gold!—and so take heed,
Nor palter with the dross to form a god—
Behold, the dandelion gilds the clod,
The buttercup adorns the dewy mead!
Doth it not bring contentment to thy greed?—
Then satiate thine avarice: the sod
Gleams with illimitable golden-rod,—
And of a surety thou art rich indeed!
The burnished banner of the summer’s prime
Waves happy mortals to a golden feast
(The largess rare of yon high Eastern priest!)
Unstained by goaded greed, or shame, or crime.
Oh, glorious yellow golden-rod!—sublime
Free-offering to the greatest and the least.
The Sea’s Influence
THE brine is in our blood from days of yore,
And ever in our ears the tide’s tune rings;
The wave runs through our legends and our lore,
And permeates a thousand diverse things;
The memory of our race’s Island home
Is charged with salt-sea spray and ocean foam.
The Passing of Summer
“SUMMER is dead!”—it was the wind that spake
In the bronze mantle of the sombre pine—
“The sumach bush unfurls a scarlet sign;
The sere rush signals it in stream and lake;
Soundeth a requiem in gilded brake,
Where mateless birds a lonely fate repine;
The sky is veiled in tears; each gray confine
Bespeaks the shrunken branch the leaves forsake.
“I laugh with ruddy Autumn in the morn;
I sound his praises in the golden light;
But when high noon has passed and raven night
Comes rushing down, I wail with those forlorn:
The dying leaves, the lone flowers, pale and torn,
The multitudes confronting death or flight.”