THE children played at naming, every one
Her favorite blossom, in the mild June even;
When, at the last, the others having done,
A little maid—her years but numbered seven—
Stood shyly forth and answered in her turn:
"Pale violets I love,—and love full well
Red poppies, which the elves for torches burn,—
But for my own I choose—the asphodel."
Indignant stared the children; then they cried—
Amid their pastime ready still for strife—
"The asphodel! You only choose through pride
A flower you never saw in all your life!"
Abashed, the culprit hung her pretty head,
As she accusèd of a crime had been;
Then, bravely, with conviction sweet she said:—
"But I love best the flower I have not seen!"
Ah, wistful child! Such lonely dreams as thine
Others have cherished in their hearts, I ween,—
And, grateful for all good, with thee incline
To love the best the flower they have not seen!
I've brought you some flowers, mother!"Child-Fancies" by Florence Earle Coates. Published in Lyrics of Life (1909).
Please look at them, mother, look!
See this one!—and here's another
I found beside the brook!
They're very warm, for I held them tight;
You'll want them, I know, to keep,
When they wake again and you see them right,—
But now they're all asleep.