7 Dandelion Poems

1. To The Dandelion
   Poet: Lowell
   
   Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,
   Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold,
   First pledge of blithesome May,
   Thou teachest me to deem
   More sacredly of every human heart,
   Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam
   Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show,
   Did we but pay the love we owe,
   And with a child's undoubting wisdom look
   On all these living pages of God's book.




Sunshine Poems



2. Dandelion
   Poet: W. B. Allen
   
   A dandelion in a meadow grew,
   Among the waving grass and cowslips yellow;
   Dining on sunshine, breakfasting on dew,
   He was a right contented little fellow.
   Each morn his golden head he lifted straight,
   To catch the first sweet breath of coming day;
   Each evening closed his sleepy eyes, to wait
   Until the long, cool night had passed away.
   
   One afternoon, in sad, unquiet mood,
   I paused beside this tiny, bright-faced flower,
   And begged that he would tell me, if he could.
   The secret of his joy through sun and shower.
   It seemed, he looked up brightly as he said:
   "I know the sun is somewhere, shining clear.
   And when I can not see him overhead,
   I try to be a little sun, right here!




Flower Poem



3. The First Dandelion
   Poet: Walt Whitman
   
   Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close emerging,
   As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,
   Forth from its sunny nook of sheltered grass—innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
   The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful face.




4. First To Appear
   Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
   
   To some, a dandelion is a weed
   But this flower has many seeds
   The seeds are scattered by the wind
   Much to some people's chagrin.
   
   But the dandelion is the first to appear
   Sending the signal summer is near.
   When everything is dark and dreary
   The yellow flower seems so cheery.
   
   The next dandelion you see
   See this flower as pretty
   Remember your childhood days
   You pick them for your Mom in May!




Garden Verses



5. Little Dandelion
   Poet: Helen Louisa Bostwick
   
   Little Bud Dandelion
   Hears from her nest:
   "Merry-heart, Starry-eye,
   Wake from your rest."
   Wide open the tinted lids,
   Robin's above!
   Wise little Dandelion
   Smiles at his love.
   
   Golden-haired Dandelion
   For her sweet face,
   Anywhere, everywhere,
   Findeth a place.
   High on the rocky ridge,
   Low by the run,
   Bright little Dandelion
   Winks at the sun.
   
   Brave little Dandelion!
   Falls the late snow,
   Bending the daffodils
   Haughty head low.
   Under that fleecy tent,
   Careless of cold,
   Blithe little Dandelion
   Counteth her gold.
   
   Gay little Dandelion
   Groweth more fair,
   Till dries the morning dew
   Out of her hair.
   High rides the thirsty sun,
   Fiercely and high;
   Faint little Dandelion
   Closeth her eye.
   
   Dead little Dandelion,
   In her white shroud,
   Heareth the angel-Breeze
   Call from the cloud.
   Tiny plumes fluttering,
   Make no delay;
   Little winged Dandelion
   Soareth away!




Flower Quotes



6. Springtime Delight
   Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
   
   Dandelion, weed we must get rid of
   Break out the shovel and start to dig deep
   Yet when I look around I can truly admit
   Your bright yellow beauty is a sweet treat.
   
   Blowing in the breeze under sunny skies
   Illuminating me with its golden eyes
   A speckled ray of hope and joy so high
   Dandelion, come show springtime's delight.




Spring Poems



7. The Dandelion
   Poet: Kate Louise Wheeler
   
   One day, in spring, I took a walk
   And spied, within a field of green,
   A slender dandelion stock,
   Upon whose top a flower was seen.
   
   Soon after, passing by the place,
   I noticed that the flower of gold,
   Whose stiffened stalk had lost its grace,
   Was turning gray and growing old.
   
   Today, upon the self same ground,
   I see a stalk undecked and spare;
   The flower that once was golden-crowned,
   Has lost its gray—its head is bare.
   
   How like a child is this gay flower,
   With golden hair and graceful mien,
   Which comes to brighten many an hour
   And add a charm to dullest scene!
   
   But soon the golden turns to gray
   And middle life comes on apace;
   The gray then hurries on its way,
   And old age comes to take its place.