Welcome back to Flower Poetry Fridays with Mrs. Sigourney. Each Friday a new poem will be posted from her The Voice Of Flowers.
GOSSIP WITH A SPRING
BOUQUET.SPEAK, speak, sweet guests.
Yes, ope your lips in words.
‘Tis my delight to talk with you, and fain
I’d have an answer. I’ve been long convinced
You understand me,—though you do not
choose
To wear your bright thoughts on your finger-
tips,
For all to sport with.
Lily of the Vale,
And you, meek Violet, with your eyes of blue,
I call on you the first,—for well I know
How prone such village maidens are, to hide
Their clear good sense among the city folks,
Unless well urged, and fortified to speak.— O purple Pansy ! friend of earliest years,
You’re always welcome. Have you never
heard
From some wise grandame, of your ances-
tors,
Who on the margin of my native Thames
Flourished, more vigorous and more fair than
you ?
‘Twas not the fond garrulity of age,
That made her laud the past, without respect
To verity ; for I remember well
How beautiful they were, and with what pride
I used to pluck them, when my school was
o’er,
And love to place them, rich with breathing
sweets,
Between my Bible-leaves, and find them there
Month after month, pressing their bosoms close
To some undying hope.
Bright Hyacinth,
I’m glad you’ve brought your little ones. How
snug
You wrap them in their hoods. But still I see
Their merry eyes and their plump cheeks
peep out.
Ah ! here’s the baby, in its blanket too :—
You’re a good mother, sure. Don’t be in haste
To take their mantles off; the morn is chill;
I’d rather see them one by one come forth,
Just when they please. A charming family !
And very happy you must doubtless be,
In their sweet promise, and your matron care.Gay, graceful Tulip, did you learn in France
Your taste for dress ? and how to hold your
head
So elegantly ? In the gale, yestreen,
That o’er the parterre swept with sudden force,
I thought I saw you waltzing. Have a care,
And do not look disdainfully those
You call plebian flowers, because, my dear,
We live in a republic, where the strength
Comes from beneath, and many a change
occurs
To lop the haughty, and to lift the low.Good neighbor Cowslip, I have seen the bee
Whispering to you, and have been told he
stays
Quite long and late, amid your golden cells.
It must be business that he comes upon,
Matter-of-fact, he never wastes an hour.
Know you, that he’s a subtle financier ?
And shows some gain for every day he spends ?
Oh! learn from him the priceless worth of
time,
Thou fair and frail ! So shalt thou prove the
truth,
That he who doth associate with the wise,
Shall in their wisdom share.
Narcissus pale !
Had you a mother, child, who kept you close
Over your needle or your music books ?
And never bade you sweep a room, or make
A pudding in the kitchen ? I’m afraid
She shut you from the air, and fervid sun,
To keep you delicate, or let you draw
Your corset-lace too tight. I would you were
As hardy as your cousin Daffodil,
Who to the sharp wind turns her buxom cheek
Unshrinking, like a damsel taught to spin,
Or milk the cows, and knead the bread, and
lead
A useful life, her nerves by labor strung
To bear its duties and its burdens too.Lilac of Persia ! tell us some fine tale
Of Eastern lands. We’re fond of travellers.
Have you no legend of some Sultan proud ?
Or old fire-worshipper ? Not even one note
Made on your voyage ? Well, ’tis wondrous
strange,
That you should let so rare a chance slip by,
While those who never journeyed half so far,
Fill sundry volumes, and expect the world
To reverently peruse and magnify
What it well knew before.
Most glorious Rose,
You are the queenly belle. On you, all eyes
Admiring turn. Doubtless you might indite
Romances from your own sweet history.
They’re all the fashion now, and crowd the
page
Of many a periodical. Wilt tell
None of your heart adventures ? Never
mind !
All can detect the zephyr’s stolen kiss
In your deep blush ; so, where’s the use to
seal
Your lips so cunningly, when all the world
Call you the flower of love ?
And now good-bye ;—
A pleasant gossip have I had with you,
Obliging visitants, but must away
To graver toils. Still keep your incense fresh
And free to rise to Him, who tints your brows,
Bidding the brown mould, and unsightly stem
Put forth such blaze of beauty, as translates
To dullest hearts His dialect of love.
Yes, Mrs. Sigourney, we only have but little of our precious time to spend gossiping in the garden with our flowery friends.
It is time well spent though. Good exercise for the body and the mind.
Isn’t it also great to be outdoors in the sunshine and fresh air? I declare the time spent is worth every minute!
Come back next Friday for the next installment in our series of flower poems from Mrs. Sigourney’s The Voice of Flowers, “The Hollyhock and Her Visitor”.