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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.