The New Year.
18
Take this sweet New Year, and greet her
With an earnest hand,
That, when fled, she may be sweeter,
And thou need'st not fear to meet her
In her native land.
With an earnest hand,
That, when fled, she may be sweeter,
And thou need'st not fear to meet her
In her native land.
A Poppy.
Poppy! delicate and fine,
Is it really true that you
Are no better than a cheat
Set among the golden wheat?
That for all your lovely red
You will never make us bread,
That though with an elfin guile
You have caught the sun's warm smile
Captive for a little while
There is no real use in you—
Tell me, tell me, is it true,
Poppy, delicate and fine?
Is it really true that you
Are no better than a cheat
Set among the golden wheat?
That for all your lovely red
You will never make us bread,
That though with an elfin guile
You have caught the sun's warm smile
Captive for a little while
There is no real use in you—
Tell me, tell me, is it true,
Poppy, delicate and fine?
