| Welcome, dear Goldenrod, once more, | ||
| You mimic, flowering elm | ||
| I always think that summer's store | ||
| Hangs from thy laden stem |
I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
Helen Hunt Jackson
Nature lies disheveled, pale,
With her feverish lips apart,—
Day by day the pulses fail,
Nearer to her bounding heart;
Yet that slackened grasp doth hold
Store of pure and genuine gold;
Quick thou comest, strong and free,
Type of all the wealth to be,—
Goldenrod!
Elaine Goodale
*Wouldn't a few sprays look beautiful in an autumn bridal bouquet!
I lie amid the Goldenrod,
I love to see it lean and nod;
I love to feel the grassy sod
Whose kindly breast will hold me last,
Whose patient arms will fold me fast!—
Fold me from sunshine and from song,
Fold me from sorrow and from wrong:
Through gleaming gates of Goldenrod
I'll pass into the rest of God.
Mary Clemmer
I know the lands are lit
With all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.
Helen Hunt Jackson
