Poems (Hardy)/To the wild pennyroyal
TO THE WILD PENNYROYAL
ROYAL little herb and wise!Other plants flaunt out in gold,Crimson tints or scarlet dyes,All to catch men's careless eyes;Humbly thou dost dream and plotStill to live thyself forgot;Choosest out a dwelling-spotUnderneath the forest-trees,By the field's edge or the brook;Up and down thine instincts look,Gather forth their essencesFrom the maple and the oak,From the briar-rose and the fern,Spicewood bush and purple scoke,Elm and ash and clean-limbed beech;Whatsoever these can teachThou hast art enough to learnWhile thy little torch doth burn.
There thou dwellest, gathering inWisdom through thy fairy leaf;All thy stems and roots beginPatience' tranquil web to spin.Thou forgiveness dost contriveFor the foot that brings thee grief,—Nay, dost give to every thiefAll thy industry can win.Charity beyond compareSurely proves thee more than fair. Aimlessly, one woodland dayWhen 't was joy to be alive,Turning from a foot-worn way,But half-aware, my wandering feetTrespassed on thy borders sweet;Wafted upward and aroundCame thy protest almost gay,Almost praising what did wound.But, prophetic, didst thou seeOut of what thou wast to meFlowers of thought and feeling bloomIn these distant fields and days?Prescient cunning, making roomThrough my comfort for self-praise!Cold suspicion—let it go!Little didst thou care or knowThat a moment's flash could holdSummer glory, autumn gold,Wealth of springs and winters old.
Comfort thee, thou little weed;Thoughts of thee are dear indeed.When a woodland wind blows downFrom the hills beyond the town,When a salt breeze from the seaBrings its message in to me,Grateful pleasure takes the giftAs the moment's golden drift;Looks beyond the narrow streetTo the fields and pastures sweet,To the green waves of the bayAs a part of one more day; But when Memory's hand unwindsDistaffs dyed and spun and reeled—(Whereof something each one findsLabeled for the solitudeIn the which his soul has setTime, deliberate to forget!)—Ah, when, Memory's doors unsealed,All life's hidden things revealed,Forgotten griefs, remembered good,All remembered good that growsIn the halls of her repose,—She to please my heart doth bringScent of this familiar field,Breath of that beloved woodWhere thou growest close and sweetAs of old about my feet;There, around in regnant groupsStand the oak-trees and the elms,And beneath them come the troopsLiberal Nature hastes to bringWhen with giving she o'erwhelmsAll the gardens of the woodWith the riches of the spring;Then my heart owes this to thee,That beside the Western SeaThou canst make youth's paradiseIn perennial beauty rise;Set the domes of beech-tree tentsUnder gloom of Tamalpais;Make red fields of clover glowOn the windy slopes below;Mingle with the salt sea scentsSubtle breath of woodland bower,Linden bloom and wayside flower. Ah, the story is the sameThat from ancient Scripture came:Them of low estate He givesPlaces which the great have sought;Through the lowliest thing that livesMiracles of love are wrought.