Jewel-Weed

Thou lonely, dew-wet mountain road, Traversed by toiling feet each day, What rare enchantment maketh thee Appear so gay?

Thy sentinels, on either hand Rise tamarack, birch, and balsam-fir, O'er the familiar shrubs that greet The wayfarer;

But here's a magic cometh new— A joy to gladden thee, indeed: This passionate out-flowering of The jewel-weed,

That now, when days are growing drear, As Summer dreams that she is old, Hangs out a myriad pleasure-bells Of mottled gold!

Thine only, these, thou lonely road! Though hands that take, and naught restore, Rob thee of other treasured things, Thine these are, for

A fairy, cradled in each bloom, To all who pass the charmed spot Whispers in warning: "Friend, admire,— But touch me not!

"Leave me to blossom where I sprung, A joy untarnished shall I seem; Pluck me, and you dispel the charm And blur the dream!"