The seal and guerdon of wealth untold We clasp in the wild marsh marigold. - Elaine Goodale Eastman

Skirting the rocks at the forest edge
With a running flame from ledge to ledge,
Or swaying deeper in shadowy glooms,
A smoldering fire in her dusky blooms;
Bronzed and molded by wind and sun,
Maddening, gladdening every one
With a gypsy beauty full and fine,—
A health to the crimson columbine!

The starry, fragile windflower, Poised above in airy grace,
Virgin white, suffused with blushes, Shyly droops her lovely face.

Death in the wood,—
In the death-pale lips apart; Death in a whiteness that curdled the blood,
Now black to the very heart: The wonder by her was formed
Who stands supreme in power; To show that life by the spirit comes
She gave us a soulless flower!