Image from The City Sage
SOMETIMES POETRY — SOMETIMES PROSE — ALWAYS WORTHWHILE
Before the gardens — the seeds. This lovely song of the seeds bears reprinting.
Song of the Seeds.
‘Tis so dark, so dark here under the ground.
We reach and we struggle, we know not where;
We long for something we have not found,
We seek and we find not, but we cannot despair.
It is warm and sweet here under the earth,
And so peaceful too — why cannot we stay?
What is this change that is named a birth?
And whit is this wonderful thing called Day?
But a power is on us we may not wait;
Within us we feel it struggle and thrill,
While upward we reach to find our fate,
And this ceaseless, mysterious want to fulfill.
They say that at last we shall reach the air —
Will breathing be freedom, and Light be Life?
What mystic changes shall we meet with there
When the blossoms shall crown this mute, strange strife?
So, ending answerless, the song is done —
The song so oft upon the earth begun,
Whose closing and triumphant harmonies
Shall ne’er be sounded but beyond the skies.
Written by Florence Smith who lived 1845-71.
Ironwood Daily Globe (Ironwood, Michigan) Jun 13, 1933