Sunflower.... False Riches.
Reading edition
The Sunflower has been thus named from the resemblance which its broad golden disk and rays bear to the sun. The first Spaniards who arrived in Peru were amazed at the profuse display of gold among the people, but they were still more astonished when, in May, they beheld whole fields covered with these flowers, which they concluded, at first sight, must be of the same precious metal. From this circumstance, and the observation that gold, however abundant, cannot render a person truly rich, the Sunflower has been made the emblem of false wealth. Many of the English poets have adopted the notion that this flower ever turns its face to the sun. Thomson, Moore, Darwin, and Barton make a very fine use of the idea. But it is not a fact. Those flowers which face the east at the opening of day, never turn to the west at the close of it.
Searcher of gold, whose days and nights All waste away in anxious care, Estranged from all of life’s delights, Unlearned in all that is most fair— Who sailest not with easy glide, But delvest in the depths of tide, And strugglest in the foam; O! come and view this land of graves, Death’s northern sea of frozen waves, And mark thee out thy home. J. O. Rockwell.
Think’st thou the man whose mansions hold The worldling’s pride, the miser’s gold, Obtains a richer prize Than he who in his cot, at rest, Finds heavenly peace a willing guest, And bears the earnest in his breast Of treasure in the skies? Mrs. Sigourney.
Is all that heart requires, accomplished when A heap of wealth is gathered at our door? How thirsts the yearning soul for something more, Some good that lies beyond its keenest ken! MacKellar.
Can gold calm passion, or make reason shine? Can we dig peace, or wisdom, from the mine? Wisdom to gold prefer: for ’tis much less To make our fortune, than our happiness. Young.
It’s no in titles nor in rank; It’s no in wealth like Lon’on bank, To purchase peace and rest; It’s no in making muckle mair: It’s no in books: it’s no in lear, To make us truly blest: If happiness hae not her seat And centre in the breast, We may be wise, or rich, or great, But never can be blest. Burns.