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Dandelion Poems

Dandelion Poem Recommendations

Most Famous Dandelion Poems

  1. The First Dandelion by Walt Whitman
  2. To the Dandelion by James Russell Lowell
  3. The Dandelion by Vachel Lindsay

Short Dandelion Poems

  1. Dandelion by Hilda Conkling
  2. The First Dandelion by Walt Whitman
  3. I'm a Pirate by Annette Wynne
  4. The Dandelion by Vachel Lindsay
  5. The Dandelions by Helen Gray Cone
  6. The Hawkbit by Charles G. D. Roberts
  7. Dandelions in the Sun by Annette Wynne
  8. Dandelions by James B. Kenyon

Dandelion Poems for Kids

  1. Dandelion by Nellie M. Garabrant
  2. Dandy Dandelion by Christopher Morley
  3. I'm a Pirate by Annette Wynne
  4. Little Dandelion by Helen Barron Bostwick
  5. Dandelions in the Sun by Annette Wynne

Imaginative and Fun Dandelion Poems

  1. The Dandelion by Vachel Lindsay
  2. Dandy Dandelion by Christopher Morley
  3. Dandelion by Nellie M. Garabrant
  4. The Dandelions by Helen Gray Cone
  5. I'm a Pirate by Annette Wynne
  6. Little Dandelion by Helen Barron Bostwick
  7. The Dandelion by Ida Celia Whittier
  8. Dandelions in the Sun by Annette Wynne
  9. Dandelions by Florence May Alt

  1. The First Dandelion

    by Walt Whitman

    Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close emerging,
    As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,
    Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass—innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
    The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful face.

  2. Dandelion

    by Hilda Conkling

    Little soldier with the golden helmet,
    O What are you guarding on my lawn?
    You with your green gun
    And your yellow beard,
    Why do you stand so stiff?
    There is only the grass to fight!

  3. The Dandelion

    by Vachel Lindsay

    O dandelion, rich and haughty,
    King of village flowers!
    Each day is coronation time,
    You have no humble hours.
    I like to see you bring a troop
    To beat the blue-grass spears,
    To scorn the lawn-mower that would be
    Like fate's triumphant shears.
    Your yellow heads are cut away,
    It seems your reign is o'er.
    By noon you raise a sea of stars
    More golden than before.

  4. Dandy Dandelion

    by Christopher Morley

    When Dandy Dandelion wakes
    And combs his yellow hair,
    The ant his cup of dewdrop takes
    And sets his bed to air;
    The worm hides in a quilt of dirt
    To keep the thrush away,
    The beetle dons his pansy shirt—
    They know that it is day!

    And caterpillars haste to milk
    The cowslips in the grass;
    The spider, in his web of silk,
    Looks out for flies that pass.
    These humble people leap from bed,
    They know the night is done:
    When Dandy spreads his golden head
    They think he is the sun!

    Dear Dandy truly does not smell
    As sweet as some bouquets;
    No florist gathers him to sell,
    He withers in a vase;
    Yet in the grass he's emperor,
    And lord of high renown;
    And grateful little folk adore
    His bright and shining crown.

  5. Dandelion

    by Nellie M. Garabrant

    There's a dandy little fellow,
    Who dresses all in yellow,
    In yellow with an overcoat of green;
    With his hair all crisp and curly,
    In the springtime bright and early
    A-tripping o'er the meadow he is seen.
    Through all the bright June weather,
    Like a jolly little tramp,
    He wanders o'er the hillside, down the road;
    Around his yellow feather,
    Thy gypsy fireflies camp;
    His companions are the wood lark and the toad.

    But at last this little fellow
    Doffs his dainty coat of yellow,
    And very feebly totters o'er the green;
    For he very old is growing
    And with hair all white and flowing,
    A-nodding in the sunlight he is seen.
    Oh, poor dandy, once so spandy,
    Golden dancer on the lea!
    Older growing, white hair flowing,
    Poor little baldhead dandy now is he!

  6. The Dandelions

    by Helen Gray Cone

    Upon a showery night and still,
    Without a sound of warning,
    A trooper band surprised the hill,
    And held it in the morning.

    We were not waked by bugle-notes,
    No cheer our dreams invaded,
    And yet, at dawn, their yellow coats
    On the green slopes paraded.

    We careless folk the deed forgot;
    Till one day, idly walking,
    We marked upon the self-same spot
    A crowd of veterans talking.

    They shook their trembling heads and gray
    With pride and noiseless laughter;
    When, well-a-day! they blew away,
    And ne'er were heard of after!

  7. I'm a Pirate

    by Annette Wynne

    I'm a pirate in the grass—
    Hear ye people as ye pass;
    I'm a pirate bad and bold,
    Taking dandelion gold—
    All my hands and ships can hold.

    I'm a pirate—how the sun
    Glitters on the gold I've won;
    I shall buy you house and land
    And a castle silver-grand
    With the gold within my hand.

  8. Little Dandelion

    by Helen Barron Bostwick

    Happy little Dandelion
    Lights up the meads,
    Swings on her slender foot,
    Telleth her beads,
    Lists to the robin's note
    Poured from above;
    Wise little Dandelion
    Asks not for love.

    Cold lie the daisy banks
    Clothed but in green,
    Where, in the days agone,
    Bright hues were seen.
    Wild pinks are slumbering,
    Violets delay;
    True little Dandelion
    Greeteth the May.

    Brave little Dandelion!
    Fast falls the snow,
    Bending the daffodil's
    Haughty head low.
    Under that fleecy tent,
    Careless of cold,
    Blithe little Dandelion
    Counteth her gold.

    Meek little Dandelion
    Groweth more fair,
    Till dies the amber dew
    Out from her hair.
    High rides the thirsty sun,
    Fiercely and high;
    Faint little Dandelion
    Closeth her eye.

    Pale little Dandelion,
    In her white shroud,
    Heareth the angel-breeze
    Call from the cloud;
    Tiny plumes fluttering
    Make no delay;
    Little winged Dandelion
    Soareth away.

  9. The Dandelion

    by Elizabeth Reynolds Hapgood

    Golden the dandelion—Miser, for shame!
    Spread out for bee or worm—all hoards the same.

    No use in copying it—golden disk spread—
    Lightly it nods and sways in its green bed.

    Bluebirds are carolling high overhead
    Robins strut saucily—(So the worm said.)

    Bumble-bees greedily swarm from the clover—
    Clumsily—golden floors tempting the rover.

    Far from the toil and fret—fair carpet spread—
    As in a fairy dream—would you be led?

    Then come—the skies are blue. Throw yourself down:
    Golden the dandelion as a king's crown;

    And the green carpet spread bears you to-day
    Back to fair childhood dreams—far, far away.

  10. The Hawkbit

    by Charles G. D. Roberts

    How sweetly on the autumn scene,
    When haws are red amid the green,
    The hawkbit shines with face of cheer,
    The favorite of the faltering year!

    When days grow short and nights grow cold,
    How fairly gleams its eye of gold
    On pastured field and grassy hill,
    Along the roadside and the rill!

    It seems the spirit of a flower,
    This offspring of the autumn hour,
    Wandering back to earth to bring
    Some kindly afterthought of spring.

    A dandelion's ghost might so
    Amid Elysian meadows blow,
    Become more fragile and more fine
    Breathing the atmosphere divine.

  11. To the Dandelion

    by James Russell Lowell

    Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,
    Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
    First pledge of blithesome May,
    Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold,
    High-hearted buccaneers, o'erjoyed that they
    An Eldorado in the grass have found,
    Which not the rich earth's ample round
    May match in wealth, thou art more dear to me
    Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be.

    Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow
    Through the primeval hush of Indian seas,
    Nor wrinkled the lean brow
    Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease;
    'Tis the Spring's largess, which she scatters now
    To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand,
    Though most hearts never understand
    To take it at God's value, but pass by
    The offered wealth with unrewarded eye.

    Thou art my tropics and mine Italy;
    To look at thee unlocks a warmer clime;
    The eyes thou givest me
    Are in the heart, and heed not space or time:
    Not in mid June the golden-cuirassed bee
    Feels a more summer-like warm ravishment
    In the white lily's breezy tent,
    His fragrant Sybaris, than I, when first
    From the dark green thy yellow circles burst.

    Then think I of deep shadows on the grass,
    Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze,
    Where, as the breezes pass,
    The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways,
    Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass,
    Or whiten in the wind, of waters blue
    That from the distance sparkle through
    Some woodland gap, and of a sky above,
    Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move.

    My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee;
    The sight of thee calls back the robin's song,
    Who, from the dark old tree
    Beside the door, sang clearly all day long,
    And I, secure in childish piety,
    Listened as if I heard an angel sing
    With news from heaven, which he could bring
    Fresh every day to my untainted ears
    When birds and flowers and I were happy peers.

    How like a prodigal doth nature seem,
    When thou, for all thy gold, so common art!
    Thou teachest me to deem
    More sacredly of every human heart,
    Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam
    Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show,
    Did we but pay the love we owe,
    And with a child's undoubting wisdom look
    On all these living pages of God's book.

  12. To a Dandelion

    by Helen M. Johnson

    Blessings on thy sunny face,
    In my heart thou hast a place,
    Humble Dandelion!
    Forms more lovely are around thee,
    Purple violets surround thee,—
    But I know thy honest heart
    Never felt a moment's smart
    At another's good or beauty,—
    Ever at thy post of duty,
    Smiling on the great and small,
    Rich and poor, and wishing all
    Health, and happiness, and pleasure,
    Oh, thou art a golden treasure!

    I remember years ago,
    How I longed to see thee blow,
    Humble Dandelion!
    Through the meadows I would wander,
    O'er the verdant pastures yonder,
    Filling hands and filling lap,
    Till the teacher's rap, rap, rap,
    Sounding on the window sash
    Dreadful as a thunder crash,
    Galled me from my world ideal
    To a world how sad and real,—
    From a laughing sky and brook
    To a dull old spelling-book;
    Then with treasures hid securely,
    To my seat I crept demurely.

    Childhood's careless days are o'er,
    Happy school days come no more,
    Humble Dandelion!
    Through a desert I am walking,
    Hope eluding, pleasure mocking,
    Every earthly fountain dry,
    Yet when thou didst meet mine eye,
    Something like a beam of gladness
    Did illuminate my sadness,
    And I hail thee as a friend
    Come a holiday to spend
    By the couch of pain and anguish.
    Where I suffer, moan and languish.

    When at length I sink to rest,
    And the turf is on my breast,
    Humble Dandelion!
    Wilt thou when the morning breaketh,
    And the balmy spring awaketh,
    Bud and blossom at a breath
    From the icy arms of death,
    Wilt thou smile upon my tomb?
    Drawing beauty from the gloom,
    Making life less dark and weary,
    Making death itself less dreary,
    Whispering in a gentle tone
    To the mourner sad and lone,
    Of a spring-time when the sleeper
    Will arise to bless the weeper?


    My Father made this beautiful world and gave me a heart to love his
    works. Oh, may I love Him better than all created things!


    The little plat of ground around our house is a great field of
    instruction and amusement to me. How little do I comprehend of all
    contained within it! I am glad I was not born in some great city—
    where Nature had not been so kind and dear a friend.

  13. Dandelion

    by Annie Rankin Annan

    At dawn, when England's childish tongue
    Lisped happy truths, and men were young,
    Her Chaucer, with a gay content
    Hummed through the shining fields, scarce bent
    By poet's foot, and, plucking, set,
    All lusty, sunny, dewy-wet,
    A dandelion in his verse,
    Like the first gold in childhood's purse.

    At noon, when harvest colors die
    On the pale azure of the sky,
    And dreams through dozing grasses creep
    Of winds that are themselves asleep,
    Rapt Shelley found the airy ghost
    Of that bright flower the spring loves most,
    And ere one silvery ray was blown
    From its full disk made it his own.

    Now from the stubble poets glean
    Scant flowers of thought; the Muse would wean
    Her myriad nurslings, feeding them
    On petals plucked from a dry stem.
    For one small plumule still adrift,
    The wind-blown dandelion's gift,
    The fields once blossomy we scour
    Where the old poets plucked the flower.

  14. Dandelion

    by Ida Celia Whittier

    The yellow dandelions, discouraged, bloom
    In city yards, sprinkled with dusty grass.
    Even like one of them, O thought of gloom!
    My life must pass.

    The dandelion sees the lilac toss,
    Proud in her purple dress, a haughty head;
    In her cold heart there lurks no sense of loss,
    No dream lies dead.

    But the wild dandelion remembers well
    Dim dreams of beauty in the western plains,
    Sloping to where the sunset's glories tell
    Of golden gains.

    And dreams of mountain peaks, divinely high,
    With clouded brows, and bosoms cold with snow;
    Of canyons, darkly grand, where echoes sigh,
    And pure streams flow.

    Of oceans rolling ever, wave on wave,
    With depths like forest green, and snowy crests;
    Of ocean caves, where shadowy mermaids lave
    Their snowy breasts.

    She sees the gardens of the west, that yield
    Miles of the fairest roses, purely white,
    Mocking the distant mountain's snowy field,
    Dazzlingly bright.

    And, sweetest dream of all, the grassy hill,
    Cool in the twilight hour, and calm as sleep
    Where dandelions bloom, and wild birds trill,
    And wild vines creep.

    Ah, to be there, among the poppy's flames,
    Where daisies star the violets' field of blue!
    Far from the city yard, whose primness blames
    Her sunny hue.

  15. The Dandelion

    by Kate Louise Wheeler

    One day, in spring, I took a walk
    And spied, within a field of green,
    A slender dandelion stock,
    Upon whose top a flower was seen.

    Soon after, passing by the place,
    I noticed that the flower of gold,
    Whose stiffened stalk had lost it's grace,
    Was turning gray and growing old.

    To-day, upon the self same ground,
    I see a stalk undecked and spare;
    The flower that once was golden-crowned,
    Has lost it's—gray it's head is bare.

    How like a child is this gay flower,
    With golden hair and graceful mien,
    Which comes to brighten many an hour And add a charm to dullest scene!

    But soon the golden turns to gray
    And middle life comes on apace;
    The gray then hurries on its way,
    And old age comes to take it's place.

  16. Dandelions

    by Franklin Stanwood

    Dandelions—Dandelions! I used to pass you by;
    Beneath my feet your yellow stars I crushed without a sigh;
    I used to gaze upon your blooms with but a careless eye,
    And if of you I thought at all, knew not the reason why.

    Dandelions—Dandelions! (I'll tell to only you,)
    As you were loved by one I loved, I came to love you, too.
    I've some of you she plucked for me, (all diamonded with dew)
    They've withered now, but sacred kept, tied with a ribbon blue.

    Dandelions—Dandelions! how fresh you all appear!
    While those I've kept so long—so long—are withered now and sere;
    And she, who placed them in my hand and giving made them dear,
    Is sleeping where the dandelions love to blossom near.

    Dandelions—Dandelions! we meet with each new year,
    In winter's gloom I hail with joy your resurrection near;
    And when on sunny slopes I see your yellow stars appear,
    They seem, somehow, the stars of hope that I shall meet my dear.

  17. Dandelions in the Sun

    by Annette Wynne

    Dandelions in the sun,
    Golden dollars every one,
    Let us pick them and go buy
    All the sea and all the sky.

    Dandelions in the sun,
    Golden dollars every one—
    Who can be as rich as we
    Buying sky and hill and sea!

  18. Dandelions

    by Florence May Alt

    The fields are haunted! Where there stood
    A green-gowned, gold-haired sisterhood,
    Their pale ghosts flit across the grass
    When I, at twilight, trembling pass.
    I hear their filmy garments trail,
    And see their faces glimmer pale.

    They were so generous, so bold
    To fling away their lavish gold
    Where it availed or gladdened none,
    That now their little race is run.
    Poor swaggering gallants of a day!
    A set of merry spendthrifts they.

    Yet something of lost beauty clings
    Around the frail transparent things;
    As though dead belles of bygone balls
    Should flutter back to ruined halls
    And dance a spectral measure there
    Before they vanished into air!

    So now the fields by night and day,
    Are full of tiny ghosts in gray,
    Who search the June-world through in vain,
    To find their vanished gold again;
    Who haunt dim crannies in the hill,
    And shiver though the wind is still!

  19. Dandelions

    by James B. Kenyon

    What unseen power hath wrought this wondrous change?
    It was but yestermorn the dull brown mold
    Grew by some sudden magic, new and strange,
    Bright with these starry flakes of living gold.

    Ah, can it be that olden tale is true?
    Hath Phrygian Midas journeyed thro' the land,
    And while men slumbered and the southwind blew,
    Let fall these golden discs from out his hand?

  20. On Seeing a Crocus and a Dandelion in January

    by Harvey Carson Grumbine

    The weary watcher at the window stands
    With moaning heart all dolorous and forlorn;
    "Ah, when will break the lilac-scented morn?
    When will these icy fetters burst their bands?"
    The weary watcher wrings his pleading hands:
    "And are my hopes of all fruition shorn—
    The sunnier smiles of May and April worn?
    Has winter frozen, then, Time's hour-glass sands?"

    Behold a crocus, in his eye a tear,
    Meek tribute to the season's sorrows old,
    And there a dandelion flaming bold:
    "We are the changelings of the yester-year,

    Strewn flowers fallen from his funeral bier; We too must pass into his grave grown cold."

  21. Contentment

    by Willis Boyd Allen

    A dandelion in a meadow grew,
    Among the waving grass and cowslips yellow,
    Dining on sunshine, breakfasting on dew,
    He was a right contented little fellow.

    Each morn his golden head he lifted straight,
    To catch the first sweet breath of coming day;
    Each evening closed his sleepy eyes, to wait
    Until the long, dark night had passed away.

    One afternoon, in sad, unquiet mood,
    I paused beside this tiny, bright-faced flower,
    And begged that he would tell me, if he could,
    The secret of his joy through sun and shower.

    He looked at me with open eyes, and said:
    "I know the sun is somewhere shining clear,
    And when I cannot see him overhead
    I try to be a little sun right here."

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