Golden Rod

T'was not the sun that caught mine eye The shine reflected from nearby The faces, golden in the field With more light than the moon doth yield There wild flowers, the like of which, If true to hue, could make one rich The land itself seems turned to gold And if I were, myself, so bold A bouquet of this gold I'd pick And try to learn it's magic trick The wealth that these bright flowers yield? The truth of Faery gold revealed The glamours of the tales of old That turned to dust once they were sold Perhaps they were but flowers bright Whose colour faded in the night For anybody having seen This shock of gold amidst the green Might think themselves in faeryland With magic lying close at hand