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222
A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
178
"That
delicate
forest-flower,
With
scented
breath,
and
look
so
like
a
smile,
Seems,
as
it
issues
from
the
shapeless
mould,
An
emanation
of
the
indwelling
Life,
A
visible
token
of
the
upholding
Love,
That
are
the
soul
of
this
wide
universe."
I
suppose
that
most
of
my
readers
will
scarcely
be
older
than
I
was
when
I
wrote
my
sermonish
little
poems
under
the
inspiration
of
the
flowers
at
my
factory
work,
and
perhaps
they
will
be
interested
in
reading
a
specimen
or
two
from
the
"Lowell
Offering:"--
LIVE
LIKE
THE
FLOWERS.
Cheerfully
wave
they
o'er
valley
and
mountain,
Gladden
the
desert,
and
smile
by
the
fountain;
Pale
discontent
in
no
young
blossom
lowers:--
Live
like
the
flowers!
Meekly
their
buds
in
the
heavy
rain
bending,
Softly
their
hues
with
the
mellow
light
blending,
Gratefully
welcoming
sunlight
and
showers:--
Live
like
the
flowers!
Freely
their
sweets
on
the
wild
breezes
flinging,
While
in
their
depths
are
new
odors
upspringing:--
(Blessedness
twofold
of
Love's
holy
dowers,)
Live
like
the
flowers!
Gladly
they
heed
Who
their
brightness
has
given:
Blooming
on
earth,
look
they
all
up
to
heaven;
Humbly
look
up
from
their
loveliest
bowers:--
Live
like
the
flowers!
Peacefully
droop
they
when
autumn
is
sighing;
Breathing
mild
fragrance
around
them
in
dying,
Sleep
they
in
hope
of
Spring's
freshening
hours:--
Die
like
the
flowers!
The
prose-poem
that
follows
was
put
into
a
rhymed
version
by
several
unknown
hands
in
periodicals
of
that
day,
so
that
at
last
I
also
wrote
one,
in
self-defense,
to
claim
my
own
waif.
But
it
was
a
prose-poem
that
I
intended
it
to
be,
and
I
think
it
is
better
so.
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