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
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