An Ode to the
Oh sunflower! The queen of all flowers,
No other with you can compare,
The roadside and fields are made golden
Because of your bright presence there.
Above all the weeds that surround you
You raise to the sun your bright head,
Embroidering beautiful landscapes
Your absence would leave brown and dead.
Oh queen of the September morning
You watch for the first ray of sun,
And salute the bright orb as it travels
Till the bright day of autumn is done.
Tho' sickles may slay in the pasture,
And the plowman destroy in the field,
Yet, still will the corners and by-ways
The seed for the future years yield.
Then, Sunflower, peep over the fences
And cover the hillsides with gold,
And out in the cornfields, if tempted,
Again take thy claim as of old;
Salute, too, and nod to the stranger,
Who travels the dusty highway,
He'll worship the sun crown you're wearing
And love you for brightening his way.
So, Sunflower, grow tall in the meadow
And spread to the breezes your arms,
No matter if some do molest you
And try to destroy on the farms,
Let thy stalk all the season still gather
The sunbeams that come dancing by;
And then in September unfold them
To dazzle with splendor the eye.
__From The Kansas Standard
(Madison, Wis: The American Thresherman. 1901)
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