Golden Rod and Bitter-Sweet
With golden-rod, in sunny glow
I decked, one day, my plain black dress;
It seemed upon my face to throw
A reflex of its loveliness.
I felt the mantling color rise:
His guarded looks were grave, indeed;
But there was something in his eyes,
A something that I dared not read.
Ah! Golden-rod, fair golden-rod,
You did not bloom in blooming spring;
When lightly through the fields I trod;
When violets were blossoming.
Ah! Golden-rod, bright golden-rod,
Why bloomed you not in blooming spring?
You come too late in field and wood;
I dare not take the gift you bring.
I tore its beauty from my breast:
I strewed its blossoms on the sod:
But tenderly I laid to rest,
In keeping safe, its slender rod.
Ah me! How golden was its glow:
It lighted up my sombre dress;
And seemed upon my life to throw
A reflex of its loveliness.
One brought me bitter-sweet that day:
“Alas!” I cried, “the gift is meet”.
I threw the golden-rod away.
And now I wear the bitter-sweet.
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