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CLINTON SCOLLARD
American poet, editor and writer
(1860 - 1932)

For the fruit of the time of our toil;
  For whate'er we have fought for;
    Whether born of the brain or the soil
      Be the meed we have sought for;
        For the gifts we have had from His hand
          Who is Lord of the living,
            Let there ring through the length of the land
              A Thanksgiving! Thanksgiving!
      - [Thanksgiving Day]

The lyric sound of laughter
  Fills all the April hills
    The joy-song of the crocus,
      The mirth of daffodils.
      - April Music [April]

It is daffodil time, so the robins all cry,
  For the sun's a big daffodil up in the sky,
    And when down the midnight the owl call "to-whoo"!
      Why, then the round moon is a daffodil too;
        Now sheer to the bough-tops the sap starts to climb,
          So, merry my masters, it's daffodil time.
      - Daffodil Time [Daffodils]

Her feet along the dewy hills
  Are lighter than blown thistledown;
    She bears the glamour of one star
      Upon her violet crown.
      - Dusk [Twilight]

Some must delve when the dawn is nigh;
  Some must toil when the noonday beams;
    But when might comes, and the soft winds sigh,
      Every man is a King of Dreams.
      - King of Dreams [Dreams]

In the under-wood and the over-wood
  There is murmur and trill this day,
    For every bird is in lyric mood,
      And the wind will have its way.
      - May Magic [May]

Then the nun-like twilight came, violent vestured and still,
  And the night's first star outshone afar on the eve of Bunker Hill.
      - On the Eve of Bunker Hill [Twilight]

I sang the first green leaf upon the bough,
  The tiny kindling flame of emerald fire,
    The stir amid the roots of reeds, and how
      The sap will flush the briar.
      - Song in March [Spring]

Mortals, while through the world you go,
  Hope may succor and faith befriend,
    Yet happy your hearts if you can but know,
      Love awaits at the journey's end!
      - The Journey's End--Envoy [Love]

Upon my lips the breath of song,
  Within my heart a rhyme,
    Howe'er time trips or lags along,
      I keep abreast with time!
      - The Vagrant [Time]

O the wind is a faun in the spring time
  When the ways are green for the tread of the May!
    List! hark his lay!
      Whist! mark his play!
        T-r-r-r-l!
          Hear how gay!
      - The Wind [Wind]


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Last Revised: 2013 March 16
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