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The Dandelion

Vachel Lindsay
O dandelion, rich and haughty,
King of village flowers!
Each day is coronation time,
You have no humble hours.
I like to see you bring a troop
To beat the blue-grass spears,
To scorn the lawn-mower that would be
Like fate's triumphant shears.
Your yellow heads are cut away,
It seems your reign is o'er.
By noon you raise a sea of stars
More golden than before.

This poem is in the public domain.

This poem is in the public domain.

Vachel Lindsay

by this poet

poem
(In Springfield, Illinois)
 
It is portentous, and a thing of state   
That here at midnight, in our little town   
A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,   
Near the old court-house pacing up and down,   
   
Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards
He lingers where his children used to play,   
Or
poem

When I see a young tree
In its white beginning,
With white leaves
And white buds
Barely tipped with green,
In the April weather,
In the weeping sunshine—
Then I see my lady,
My democratic queen,
Standing free and equal
With the youngest woodland sapling
Swaying

poem
Friends, I will not cease hoping though you weep. 
Such things I see, and some of them shall come, 
Though now or streets are harsh and ashen-gray, 
Though our strong youths are strident now, or dumb. 
Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town, shall rise. 
Naught can delay it. Though it may not be 
Just as I