The Goldenrod

When daisy-snow abides no more
In fields that long for freshening rains,
The goldenrod, the flower you wore,
Leans out beside the lanes:

Leans softly, with the look of one
Who has a tender word to say;
Then, feeling breezes warm with sun,
Turns unconfessed away.

O’er lichened wall, o’er languid brook,
By her my spirit is caressed,
This golden girl, whom oft you took,
Companion, to your breast:

Who strives, with deftest maiden art,
Your moods and manners to repeat,
As stirred her still the gentle heart
She felt so often beat.

Forgive her, dear, for friendship’s sake,
Though all too close she feign your ways!
Since now the sight of her can make,
In sad and sunless days,

On all the world a sudden shine,
A flood of sunlight glad and mild,
Till song, in these still thoughts of mine,
Breaks forth as though you smiled!