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A flake of light-blue sky,
Perched on the top of a slender stem,
Like a bird with his azure wings outspread,
Here, at my feet, as I wandered by,
I found thee, wilding gem!
And the dead leaves rustled to my tread
In the weird and ag├Ęd wood.

 

I understood
As it were thy glance.
It was like a dance
Of glad surprise
In those sweet, blue eyes,
Which thou and heaven above
Dost 'mind me of.

 

I thought of winter gone,
When the brief sun shone,
Nor abated aught th' intolerant cold,
Which would yield no place,
On the white earth's face,
To thy beauty, O flower! But the mold,
Rich and black, under fallen leaves
Held thee safe as garnered sheaves.
Strange, that a tender flower like thee,
Against the rude and eager stress
Of Winter's frosty selfishness,
In forefront of revolt should'st be!

 

And yet, rathe flower divine,
On whom I almost trod,
I take thee for a sign.
With peace thou art endued,
Petaled beatitude
And little child of God!

 

I, too, rebel against the old--
Against the drear, insensate cold
Of selfish customs manifold;
And I say that every kindly deed
Is a flower like thee in the wilderness,
And makes for peace, and will sow the seed
Of other deeds to help and bless.
When these are common--when strikes that hour,
Of Time the dower--
The world shall see life truly free--
The endless Summer that is to be,
The ripened fruit, the light, the power
Of democracy!

 

Spirits of peace are in the air,
And gleams of Springtime everywhere!