Day and I—in competition ran—
I finished Two—and several Stars—
While He—was making One—
His own was ampler—but as I
Was saying to a friend—
Mine—is the more convenient
To Carry in the Hand—
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With a Bobolink for a Chorister —And an Orchard, for a Dome —Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice —I just wear my Wings —And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,Our little Sexton — sings.God preaches, a noted Clergyman —And the sermon is never long,So instead of getting to Heaven, at least —I’m going, all…
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I don’t care for pouting skies!If the Butterfly delayCan I, therefore, stay away?If the Coward Bumble BeeIn his chimney corner stay,I, must resoluter be!Who’ll apologize for me?Dear, Old fashioned, little flower!Eden is old fashioned, too!Birds are antiquated fellows!Heaven does not change her blue.Nor will I, the little Heart’s Ease—Ever be induced to do!
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Could so enthrall a ManAs the perusal ofHis Individual One—‘Tis Fiction’s—When ’tis small enoughTo Credit—’Tisn’t true!
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May be seen the Dews among,Stooping—plucking—smiling&m dash;flying—Do the Buds to them belong?Angels, when the sun is hottestMay be seen the sands among,Stooping—plucking—sighing&m dash;flying—Parched the flowers they bear along.
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I lost it in the sand—And tho’ the sum was simpleAnd pounds were in the land—Still, had it such a valueUnto my frugal eye—That when I could not find it—I sat me down to sigh.I had a crimson Robin—Who sang full many a dayBut when the woods were painted,He, too, did fly away—Time brought me…