WINGED WORDS WINDSDAY
Compiled & Edited by Rob Chappell
(@RHCLambengolmo)
Vol. 2, No. 28: May 10, 2023
May: The Merry Month of Flowers!
Editor’s Note
With the arrival of the merry
month of May, I am reminded of a riddle from my elementary school days: “If
March winds bring April showers, and if April showers bring May flowers, then
what do May flowers bring?” The answer, of course, was “Pilgrims!” 😊
Painting of the Mayflower
at sea in 1620, on the way to found Plymouth Colony in present-day
Massachusetts. (Image Credit: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons)
“The Mayflowers”
By John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)
Sad Mayflower!
watched by winter stars,
And nursed
by winter gales,
With petals
of the sleeted spars,
And leaves
of frozen sails!
What had she
in those dreary hours,
Within her
ice-rimmed bay,
In common
with the wild-wood flowers,
The first
sweet smiles of May?
Yet, “God be
praised!” the Pilgrim said,
Who saw the
blossoms peer
Above the
brown leaves, dry and dead,
“Behold our Mayflower
here!”
“God wills
it: here our rest shall be,
Our years of
wandering o'er;
For us, the Mayflower
of the sea
Shall spread
her sails no more.”
O sacred
flowers of faith and hope,
As sweetly
now as then
Ye bloom on
many a birchen slope,
In many a
pine-dark glen.
Behind the
sea-wall's rugged length,
Unchanged,
your leaves unfold,
Like love
behind the manly strength
Of the brave
hearts of old.
So live the
fathers in their sons,
Their sturdy
faith be ours,
And ours the
love that overruns
Its rocky
strength with flowers!
The
Pilgrim's wild and wintry day
Its shadow
round us draws;
The Mayflower
of his stormy bay,
Our
Freedom's struggling cause.
But warmer
suns erelong shall bring
To life the
frozen sod;
And through
dead leaves of hope shall spring
Afresh the
flowers of God!
“May-Flower”
By Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Pink, small,
and punctual,
Aromatic,
low,
Covert in
April,
Candid in
May,
Dear to the
moss,
Known by the
knoll,
Next to the
robin
In every
human soul.
Bold little
beauty,
Bedecked
with thee,
Nature
forswears
Antiquity.
* * *
“Did You Ever?”
By Evaleen Stein (1863-1923)
Did you ever
see a fairy in a rose-leaf coat and cap
Swinging in
a cobweb hammock as he napped his noonday nap?
Did you ever
see one waken very thirsty and drink up
All the
honey-dew that glimmered in a golden buttercup?
Did you ever
see one fly away on rainbow-twinkling wings?
If you did
not, why, how comes it that you never see such things?
“The Flowers”
By Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
Excerpted from A Child's Garden of Verses (1882)
All the
names I know from nurse:
Gardener's
garters, Shepherd's purse,
Bachelor's
buttons, Lady's smock,
And the Lady
Hollyhock.
Fairy
places, fairy things,
Fairy woods
where the wild bee wings,
Tiny trees
for tiny dames--
These must
all be fairy names!
Tiny woods
below whose boughs
Shady
fairies weave a house;
Tiny
tree-tops, rose or thyme,
Where the
braver fairies climb!
Fair are
grown-up people's trees,
But the
fairest woods are these;
Where, if I
were not so tall,
I should
live for good and all.
“The Flower’s Lesson”
By Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888)
Excerpted from Flower Fables (1855)
There grew a
fragrant rose-tree where the brook flows,
With two
little tender buds, and one full rose;
When the sun
went down to his bed in the west,
The little
buds leaned on the rose-mother’s breast,
While the
bright eyed stars their long watch kept,
And the
flowers of the valley in their green cradles slept;
Then
silently in odors they communed with each other,
The two
little buds on the bosom of their mother.
“O sister,”
said the little one, as she gazed at the sky,
“I wish that
the Dew Elves, as they wander lightly by,
Would bring
me a star; for they never grow dim,
And the
Father does not need them to burn round him.
The shining
drops of dew the Elves bring each day
And place in
my bosom, so soon pass away;
But a star
would glitter brightly through the long summer hours,
And I should
be fairer than all my sister flowers.
That were
better far than the dew-drops that fall
On the high
and the low, and come alike to all.
I would be
fair and stately, with a bright star to shine
And give a
queenly air to this crimson robe of mine.”
And proudly
she cried, “These fire-flies shall be
My jewels,
since the stars can never come to me.”
Just then a
tiny dew-drop that hung o’er the dell
On the
breast of the bud like a soft star fell;
But
impatiently she flung it away from her leaf,
And it fell
on her mother like a tear of grief,
While she
folded to her breast, with willful pride,
A glittering
fire-fly that hung by her side.
“Heed,” said
the mother rose, “daughter mine,
Why shouldst
thou seek for beauty not thine?
The Father hath
made thee what thou now art;
And what he
most loveth is a sweet, pure heart.
Then why
dost thou take with such discontent
The loving
gift which he to thee hath sent?
For the cool
fresh dew will render thee far
More lovely
and sweet than the brightest star;
They were
made for Heaven, and can never come to shine
Like the
fire-fly thou hast in that foolish breast of thine.
O my foolish
little bud, do listen to thy mother;
Care only
for true beauty, and seek for no other.
There will
be grief and trouble in that willful little heart;
Unfold thy
leaves, my daughter, and let the fly depart.”
But the
proud little bud would have her own will,
And folded
the fire-fly more closely still;
Till the
struggling insect tore open the vest
Of purple
and green, that covered her breast.
When the sun
came up, she saw with grief
The blooming
of her sister bud leaf by leaf.
While she,
once as fair and bright as the rest,
Hung her
weary head down on her wounded breast.
Bright grew
the sunshine, and the soft summer air
Was filled
with the music of flowers singing there;
But faint
grew the little bud with thirst and pain,
And longed
for the cool dew; but now ’t was in vain.
Then
bitterly she wept for her folly and pride,
As drooping
she stood by her fair sister’s side.
Then the
rose mother leaned the weary little head
On her bosom
to rest, and tenderly she said:
“Thou hast
learned, my little bud, that, whatever may betide,
Thou canst
win thyself no joy by passion or by pride.
The loving
Father sends the sunshine and the shower,
That thou
mayst become a perfect little flower;—
The sweet
dews to feed thee, the soft wind to cheer,
And the
earth as a pleasant home, while thou art dwelling here.
Then
shouldst thou not be grateful for all this kindly care,
And strive
to keep thyself most innocent and fair?
Then seek,
my little blossom, to win humility;
Be fair
without, be pure within, and thou wilt happy be.
So when the
quiet Autumn of thy fragrant life shall come,
Thou mayst
pass away, to bloom in the Flower Spirits’ home.”
Then from
the mother’s breast, where it still lay hid,
Into the
fading bud the dew-drop gently slid;
Stronger
grew the little form, and happy tears fell,
As the dew
did its silent work, and the bud grew well,
While the
gentle rose leaned, with motherly pride,
O’er the
fair little ones that bloomed at her side.
Night came
again, and the fire-flies flew;
But the bud
let them pass, and drank of the dew;
While the
soft stars shone, from the still summer heaven,
On the happy
little flower that had learned the lesson given.
,_frontispiece.png)
“Earth and Air Seemed Filled with
Beauty” is the title of the frontispiece from Louisa May Alcott’s Flower
Fables. (Image Credit: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons)
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