The Home Book of Verse Volume Iii Part 45

THE HOUSEKEEPER

The frugal snail, with forecast of repose, Carries his house with him where'er he goes; Peeps out,--and if there comes a shower of rain, Retreats to his small domicile amain.

Touch but a tip of him, a horn,--'tis well,-- He curls up in his sanctuary sh.e.l.l.

He's his own landlord, his own tenant; stay Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day.

Himself he boards and lodges; both invites And feasts himself; sleeps with himself o' nights.

He spares the upholsterer trouble to procure Chattels; himself is his own furniture, And his sole riches. Whereso'er he roam,-- Knock when you will,--he's sure to be at home.

From the Latin of Vincent Bourne, by Charles Lamb [1775-1834]

THE HUMBLE-BEE

Burly, dozing humble-bee, Where thou art is clime for me.

Let them sail for Porto Rique, Far-off heats through seas to seek; I will follow thee alone, Thou animated torrid-zone!

Zigzag steerer, desert cheerer, Let me chase thy waving lines; Keep me nearer, me thy hearer, Singing over shrubs and vines.

Insect lover of the sun, Joy of thy dominion!

Sailor of the atmosphere; Swimmer through the waves of air; Voyager of light and noon; Epicurean of June; Wait, I prithee, till I come Within earshot of thy hum,-- All without is martyrdom.

When the south wind, in May days, With a net of shining haze Silvers the horizon wall, And with softness touching all, Tints the human countenance With a color of romance, And infusing subtle heats, Turns the sod to violets, Thou, in sunny solitudes, Rover of the underwoods, The green silence dost displace With thy mellow, breezy ba.s.s.

Hot midsummer's petted crone, Sweet to me thy drowsy tone Tells of countless sunny hours, Long days, and solid banks of flowers; Of gulfs of sweetness without bound In Indian wildernesses found; Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure, Firmest cheer, and birdlike pleasure.

Aught unsavory or unclean Hath my insect never seen; But violets and bilberry bells, Maple-sap and daffodels, Gra.s.s with green flag half-mast high, Succory to match the sky, Columbine with horn of honey, Scented fern, and agrimony, Clover, catchfly, adder's tongue And brier-roses, dwelt among; All beside was unknown waste, All was picture as he pa.s.sed.

Wiser far than human seer, Yellow-breeched philosopher!

Seeing only what is fair, Sipping only what is sweet, Thou dost mock at fate and care, Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.

When the fierce northwestern blast Cools sea and land so far and fast, Thou already slumberest deep; Woe and want thou canst outsleep; Want and woe, which torture us, Thy sleep makes ridiculous.

Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882]

TO A b.u.t.tERFLY

I've watched you now a full half-hour, Self-poised upon that yellow flower; And, little b.u.t.terfly! indeed I know not if you sleep or feed.

How motionless! not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Has found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours; My trees they are, my Sister's flowers; Here rest your wings when they are weary; Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong; Sit near us on the bough!

We'll talk of sunshine and of song, And summer days, when we are young; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

ODE TO A b.u.t.tERFLY

Thou spark of life that wavest wings of gold, Thou songless wanderer mid the songful birds, With Nature's secrets in thy tints unrolled Through gorgeous cipher, past the reach of words, Yet dear to every child In glad pursuit beguiled, Living his unspoiled days mid flowers and flocks and herds!

Thou winged blossom, liberated thing, What secret tie binds thee to other flowers, Still held within the garden's fostering?

Will they too soar with the completed hours, Take flight, and be like thee Irrevocably free, Hovering at will o'er their parental bowers?

Or is thy l.u.s.ter drawn from heavenly hues,-- A sumptuous drifting fragment of the sky, Caught when the sunset its last glance imbues With sudden splendor, and the tree-tops high Grasp that swift blazonry, Then lend those tints to thee, On thee to float a few short hours, and die?

Birds have their nests; they rear their eager young, And flit on errands all the livelong day; Each fieldmouse keeps the homestead whence it sprung; But thou art Nature's freeman,--free to stray Unfettered through the wood, Seeking thine airy food, The sweetness spiced on every blossomed spray.

The garden one wide banquet spreads for thee, O daintiest reveller of the joyous earth!

One drop of honey gives satiety; A second draught would drug thee past all mirth.

Thy feast no orgy shows; Thy calm eyes never close, Thou soberest sprite to which the sun gives birth.

And yet the soul of man upon thy wings Forever soars in aspiration; thou His emblem of the new career that springs When death's arrest bids all his spirit bow.

He seeks his hope in thee Of immortality.

Symbol of life, me with such faith endow!

Thomas Wentworth Higginson [1823-1911]

THE b.u.t.tERFLY

I hold you at last in my hand, Exquisite child of the air.

Can I ever understand How you grew to be so fair?

You came to my linden tree To taste its delicious sweet, I sitting here in the shadow and shine Playing around its feet.

Now I hold you fast in my hand, You marvelous b.u.t.terfly, Till you help me to understand The eternal mystery.

From that creeping thing in the dust To this shining bliss in the blue!

G.o.d give me courage to trust I can break my chrysalis too!

Alice Freeman Palmer [1855-1902]

FIREFLIES

I saw, one sultry night above a swamp, The darkness throbbing with their golden pomp!

And long my dazzled sight did they entrance With the weird chaos of their dizzy dance!

Quicker than yellow leaves, when gales despoil, Quivered the brilliance of their mute turmoil, Within whose light was intricately blent Perpetual rise, perpetual descent.

As though their scintillant flickerings had met In the vague meshes of some airy net!