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Marigold Poems

Table of Contents

  1. Marigold by Hilda Conkling
  2. Marigolds by Bliss Carman
  3. Marigolds by Robert Graves
  4. Marigold by Bayard Taylor

  1. Marigold

    by Hilda Conkling

    Marigold, marigold,
    Where are you going?
    Have you a plan? Can you not tell me?
    I should like to know!
    There are lots of places to wander,
    There is a brook needing a visitor,
    A robin needing a friend.
    You must not be lonely:
    You belong to nature as I do!
    You have a frank little way of staring . . .
    I am curious about you!
    The blue sky hangs over you and me . . .
    The sun's rays fall on us both . . .
    Why not be happy
    On this wonderful earth?
    Marigold, answer!
    I tell you all my thoughts
    But you have not said a word!
    (It was then she said softly
    "I have many friends,
    But you are my best!"

  2. Marigolds

    by Bliss Carman

    The marigolds are nodding;
    I wonder what they know.
    Go, listen very gently;
    You may persuade them so.

    Go, be their little brother,
    As humble as the grass,
    And lean upon the hill-wind,
    And watch the shadows pass.

    Put off the pride of knowledge,
    Put by the fear of pain;
    You may be counted worthy
    To live with them again.

    Be Darwin in your patience,
    Be Chaucer in your love;
    They may relent and tell you
    What they are thinking of.

  3. Marigolds

    by Bliss Carman

    With a fork drive Nature out,
    She will ever yet return;
    Hedge the flowerbed all about,
    Pull or stab or cut or burn,
    She will ever yet return.

    Look: the constant marigold
    Springs again from hidden roots.
    Baffled gardener, you behold
    New beginnings and new shoots
    Spring again from hidden roots.
    Pull or stab or cut or burn,
    They will ever yet return.

    Gardener, cursing at the weed,
    Ere you curse it further, say:
    Who but you planted the seed
    In my fertile heart, one day?
    Ere you curse me further, say!
    New beginnings and new shoots
    Spring again from hidden roots.
    Pull or stab or cut or burn,
    Love must ever yet return.

  4. Marigold

    by Bayard Taylor

    Homely, forgotten flower,
    Under the rose's bower,
    Plain as a weed,
    Thou, the half-summer long,
    Waitest and waxest strong,
    Even as waits a song
    Till men shall heed.

    Then, when the lilies die,
    And the carnations lie
    In spicy death,
    Over thy bushy sprays
    Burst with a sudden blaze
    Stars of the August days,
    With Autumn's breath.

    Fain would the calyx hold;
    But splits, and half the gold
    Spills lavishly:
    Frost, that the rose appalls,
    Wastes not thy coronals,
    Till Summer's lustre falls
    And fades in thee.

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