The Cornflower, and Other Poems

The Cornflower, and Other Poems
Jean Blewett

The Cornflower, and Other Poems

TO

Lillian Massey Treble

A woman with a heart of gold
I heard her called before I knew
How noble was that heart and true,
How full of tenderness untold.

Her sympathies both broad and sure,
Her one desire to do the right —
Clear visioned from the inner light
God gives to souls unworldly, pure.

A heart of gold that loves and gives,
God's almoner from day to day,
Of her there is but this to say:
The world is better that she lives.

THE CORNFLOWER

The day she came we were planting corn,
The west eighty-acre field, —
These prairie farms are great for size,
And they're sometimes great for yield.

"The new school-ma'am is up to the house,"
The chore-boy called out to me;
I went in wishing anyone else
Had been put in chief trustee.

I was to question that girl, you see,
Of the things she ought to know;
As for these same things, I knew right well
I'd forgot them long ago.

I hadn't kept track of women's ways,
'Bout all I knew of the sex
Was that they were mighty hard to please,
And easy enough to vex.

My sister Mary, who ruled my house —
And me – with an iron hand,
Was all the woman I knew real well —
Her I didn't understand.

But I'd no call to grumble at fate,
Fifty, well off, and unwed;
Young as a lad in spite of the dust
Old Time had thrown on my head.

I engaged the school-ma'am on the spot,
And the reason, I surmise,
Was this, she didn't giggle or blush,
But looked me fair in the eyes.

The planting over, why, every lad
In a space of ten good mile
Was off for the school with a sudden zeal
That made all us old folks smile.

How she took to our wide prairie
After towns with narrow streets!
To watch that west eighty-acre field
Was one of her queer conceits.

"You planted that corn the day I came,"
She said, "and I love to go
And watch the sun-mother kiss and coax
Each slim green stalk to grow."

I called her "Cornflower" when she took
To wearing 'em in her belt.
The young chaps were all in love with her —
And I knew just how they felt.

Oh, I tell you that was a summer,
Such sunshine, such dew, such rain;
Never saw crops grow so in my life —
Don't expect I will again.

To watch that west eighty-acre field,
When the fall came clear and cold,
Was something like a sermon to me —
Made me think of streets of gold.

But about that time the new school-ma'am
Had words with the first trustee;
A scholar had taken the fever
And she was for blaming me.

That schoolhouse should be raised from the ground —
Grave reason there for alarm;
A new coat of plaster be put on
That the children be kept warm.