The Flower of Mending
(To Eudora, after I had had certain dire adventures.)
When Dragon-fly would fix his wings,When Snail would patch his house,When moths have marred the overcoatOf tender Mister Mouse,
The pretty creatures go with hasteTo the sunlit blue-grass hillsWhere the Flower of Mending yields the waxAnd webs to help their ills.
The hour the coats are waxed and webbedThey fall into a dream,And when they wake the ragged robesAre joined without a seam.
My heart is but a dragon-fly,My heart is but a mouse,My heart is but a haughty snailIn a little stony house.
Your hand was honey-comb to heal,Your voice a web to bind.You were a Mending Flower to meTo cure my heart and mind.