Trillium undulatumPainted lady, late riser,you rush out of the ground,get pollinated on the flysometimes beforeyour petals fully open,so that within one dayafter emergence they arealready turning translucent,your pink makeup fadingas the light-floodedforest dims to leaf-out.But that’s your trueelement, isn’t it?The shade.Even unpollinated
Let him continuein the ground, hewho is now dead,where all things hurry—a strange companywho seem to speak.Let the pursers and clerksmake up their accounts,the parson rest, andthe great night cometo sit with night.
On a maple’s pale bark,a zigzag ladder—old tooth-marksfrom a wandering snail?Green islands of mossbeckon across a fluttering seaof brown leaves.This cloud-filtered sunlightis perfect, says the photographeras her cheeks slowly turn red.
Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,Let me once know.I sought thee in a secret cave,And ask'd, if Peace were there,A hollow wind did seem to answer, No:Go seek elsewhere.I did; and going did a rainbow note:Surely, thought I,This is the lace of Peace's coat:I will search out the matter.But while I looked the clouds immediatelyDid break and scatter.Then went I to a garden and did spyA gallant flower,The crown-imperial: Sure, said I,
Nature -- the Gentlest Mother is,Impatient of no Child --The feeblest -- or the waywardest --Her Admonition mild --In Forest -- and the Hill --By Traveller -- be heard --Restraining Rampant Squirrel --Or too impetuous Bird --How fair Her Conversation --A Summer Afternoon --Her Household -- Her Assembly --And when the Sun go down --Her Voice among the AislesIncite the timid prayerOf the minutest Cricket --The most unworthy Flower --
If faithful souls be alike glorifiedAs angels, then my fathers soul doth see,And adds this even to full felicity,That valiantly I hells wide mouth o'erstride:But if our minds to these souls be descriedBy circumstances, and by signs that beApparent in us, not immediately,How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried?They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn,And vile blasphemous conjurers to callOn Jesus name, and PharisaicalDissemblers feigne devotion. Then turn,O pensive soul, to God, for he knows bestThy true grief, for he put it in my breast.