C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
To the Small Celandine
By William Wordsworth (1770–1850)
P
Let them live upon their praises;
Long as there’s a sun that sets,
Primroses will have their glory;
Long as there are violets,
They will have a place in story:
There’s a flower that shall be mine,—
’Tis the little Celandine.
For the finding of a star;
Up and down the heavens they go,
Men that keep a mighty rout!
I’m as great as they, I trow,
Since the day I found thee out,
Little Flower!—I’ll make a stir,
Like a sage astronomer.
Bold, and lavish of thyself;
Since we needs must first have met,
I have seen thee, high and low,
Thirty years or more, and yet
’Twas a face I did not know;
Thou hast now, go where I may,
Fifty greetings in a day.
In the time before the thrush
Has a thought about her nest,
Thou wilt come with half a call,
Spreading out thy glossy breast
Like a careless Prodigal;
Telling tales about the sun,
When we’ve little warmth, or none.
Travel with the multitude:
Never heed them,—I aver
That they all are wanton wooers;
But the thrifty cottager,
Who stirs little out of doors,
Joys to spy thee near her home:
Spring is coming, thou art come!
Kindly, unassuming Spirit!
Careless of thy neighborhood,
Thou dost show thy pleasant face
On the moor, and in the wood,
In the lane;—there’s not a place,
Howsoever mean it be,
But ’tis good enough for thee.
Children of the flaring hours!
Buttercups, that will be seen,
Whether we will see or no;
Others, too, of lofty mien:
They have done as worldlings do,—
Taken praise that should be thine,
Little, humble Celandine!
Ill-requited upon earth;
Herald of a mighty band,
Of a joyous train ensuing;
Serving at my heart’s command,
Tasks that are no tasks renewing,—
I will sing, as doth behove,
Hymns in praise of what I love!