The Sunflower

IT looks illuminatingly to us
(The flowers round upblink upon their stems),
The Sunflower in the prospect’s fadedness,
Solemn as stroke of a cathedral bell.
With stalk that gives ascension to the gold
Black-centered bloom, and unstrung leaves’ devise,
Solemn as things that are complete and grand.
Sole, golden, round, the full-faced flower bides.
The Magian! It emblemed once the light
That is both truth and power; here it glows
Large as the words of Zoroastrian kings,
And solemn as the blessings they implored.
And solemn in its downfall, like some mild
King whom violent history bereaves:
Its gold bestrewn and its head downbent,
it stands among the potsherds, by the pales!