Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from On Colorado's Fair Mesas Miscellany
There is a ?ower that unto thee doth lend A gladder voice, and all thy senses thrill; Some simple bloom that decked thy native hill Some ?ower with which life's holiest passions blend.
Is it the appealing glance so meek and coy, Its comely form, its Heaven-imprinted face, Its wildwood-fragrance, or its modest grace, That stirs thy soul with deep, transporting joy?
Is it for all the memories that wake From out the bowery aisles of glen and grove, Where trilled the birds their sweetest notes of love? Or is this fair bloom cherished for its sake?
I know a tiny blossom of the plain, That speaks to me, and speaks to me alone, Of one upon whose breast its glory shone, And lights with gentle fire her eyes again.
That wreathes with vernal air each golden hour Till low the sun sinks to his ancient rest; For me I know not which I love the best The magic of its presence, or the ?ower.
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