The Dandelion

With a face of gold and a heart of fire, The Dandelion stands upright; To the yellow sun, at morning’s hour, She spreads her wings to the light.

O little golden flower of the grass, How dost thou love the sun! And blessing with a thousand rays, Thy rays as brightly run;

But for the shears that keep the hours, By which all life is due, Oh, how unfading was thy fire, How unextinguished too!

Now the hour of night is upon thee, And its hollow darkness sighs; But the bright day doth smile upon thee, With many gracious eyes.

And when thy hour shall pass, perhaps, In the dusk shall be thy fate, Yet in another place shall be, The bloom of thy golden state.

• Lizette Woodworth Reese