The Sunflower’S Story

A sunflower grew by a gray stone wall, And sighed, as she nodded her head so tall, “I would I could be Far over the sea; I would that I lived in Russia.”

“My kindred I learn, in that fortunate clime Grow up to a height that is something sublime; And the seeds, which to parrots and poultry you fling, Are there counted sweetmeats and fit for a king. The smaller seeds straight are dispatched to the mill, Where an oil is extracted that cooks use with skill, While the part that remains is pressed out into cakes And an excellent food for the cattle it makes. All sunflower products the wise Russians keep; Yes, even the seed-cups are fed to the sheep. The tall hollow stalks are well dried in the sun, Then stored up for fuel and burned every one. From the ashes the finest potassium’s made, So they’re carefully sifted and carefully weighed. Ah, in Russia a sunflower’s value is known, And she’s treated as well as a queen on her throne! In Orient countries, it seems that when fired And mixed with tobacco, our leaves are admired; While our great yellow flowers are used for a dye Which they to their garments and hangings apply. I learned all these matters, I’d have you to know, From some traveling merchants who, some time ago, Conversed as they sat on a warm summer-day, In the shade of the maple just over the way.”

“Of course, I’m no longer contented at home; No wonder I’m ardently sighing to roam. I would I could be Far over the sea; I would that I lived in Russia.”