BLOODROOT

by: Danske Dandridge (1854-1914)

      COUNTLESS multitude they stand,
      A Milky Way on either hand,
      Ere yet the earliest Ferns unfold
      Or meadow Cowslips count their gold.
       
      White are my dreams, but whiter still
      The Bloodroot on the lonely hill;
      Lovely and pure my visions rise,
      To fade before my yearning eyes;
      But on that day I thought I trod
      'Mid the embodied dreams of God.
       
      Though frail those flowers, though brief their sway,
      They sanctified one perfect day;
      And, though the summer may forget,
      In my rapt soul they blossom yet.

"Bloodroot" is reprinted from Joy and Other Poems. Danske Dandridge. New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1900.

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