Page:Captain Craig; a book of poems.djvu/76

62 One flower there is, though crushed and cursed it be, Keeps rooted through all tumult and all scorn,— Still do I find, when I look sharply down, There's yet another flower that grows well And has the most unconscionable roots Of any weed on earth. Perennial It grows, and has the name of Selfishness; No doubt you call it Love. In either case, You propagate it with a diligence That hardly were outmeasured had its leaf The very juice in it of that famed herb Which gave back breath to Glaucus; and I know That in the twilight, after the day's work, You take your little children in your arms, Or lead them by their credulous frail hands Benignly out and through the garden-gate And show them there the things that you have raised; Not everything, perchance, but always one Miraculously rooted flower plot Which is your pride, their pattern. Socrates, Could he be with you there at such a time, Would have some unsolicited shrewd words To say that you might hearken to; but I Say nothing, for I am not Socrates.— So much, good friends, for flowers; and I thank you.