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Gold by Ita Aniol Prokop

A day of bright reflections on the pond,

And wavering shadows over moss and frond:

A wayward breeze, the summer's latest born,

Teased the stiff grain and bent the stately corn,

Or rocked the bird-nests in the prickly thorn.

Above, the lavish sun filled air with gold;

Again, below, on mimic waves it rolled,

And hid in lily cups. Her netted hair

Gleamed in the splendor, bright beyond compare,

Forming about her head a nimbus rare.

The velvet mullen raised its yellow head,

The buttercups like precious ore were spread:

Like golden shuttles flung by spirit hands,

Weaving invisible their magic strands,

Darted quick orioles in joyous bands.

Fond helianthus turned her fervent face,

Meek antirrhinum paled and grew apace;

Late dandelions, robed in cloth of gold,

With golden-rod, upsprung from out the mould,

And pensive, gold-eyed daisies pranked the wold.

As snowy, gold-rimmed cloudlets hide the sky,

So hid her eyelid's golden fringe her eye:

As every growing beauty of the earth

But figures forth great Nature's hidden worth,

So my love's charms from her pure heart had birth.

Pure heart of gold to me that day was given,

And promise true as gold made earth a heaven;

Then far away fled every doubt forlorn;

We felt for us the Golden Age reborn,

And envied none their gold from labor torn.