Lazy little dandelion,
Lone blooming in November,
With mayflowers gone and birds all flown,
You’ve nothing to remember.

You missed the pageantry of spring,
And mystery of waking
To life and light when hope and joy
Were busy in its making.

You never heard the robins sing
Before an April shower;
You never knew the faith one finds
In nest in leafy bower.

Ecstatic joys belong to spring
Ethereal and fleeting­—
But never lost to memory,
If granted her a meeting.

In autumn’s golden pageantry
Your mellow voice is waking
Sweet songs and flowers when the earth
Her winter bed is making.

How brave to sing without a spring­—
And have no note of sorrow,
Contented thus to sing today
And stand a ghost tomorrow!

Royal little dandelion,
Lone blooming in November,
Spring may come and spring may go­—
To sing I must remember.